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^■Lxi 


v 


>u-  ^ 


"t^^k.^ 


LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

PHILADELPHIA 

MUSEUM 

OF    ART 


m  L'Ji  JJ,  «■  J^  -JlJIIMJll.MiMlljlAJUi.ji 


TIIC 


3S.epo2^itorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufacluras^   ^'C. 


THE    SECOiND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


July  1,  1810. 


N^  VII. 


ExMliELLLSIIMENTS. 

1.  A  Gothic  Conserv\toky     .         .         .         .         . 

2.  The  New  Custom-House,  London 

3.  Ladies'  Opeka  Dkess  .         .         .         .         . 

4. MoKMNG  Dkess       .         .         .         .         . 

5.  Saloon  Duapirie^         ...... 

(i.   Pattern   fori  Needle-Wouk. 

COyiTKK  TS. 


PAGE 
1 

29 
52 

lb. 

58 


FINE  ARTS. 

Architerfnral  Hints  —  iiesi'i'iptioi)  of  a 
(jolliic  ('oiis-f.  valoi  y 

Arcliiti  ctiniil  Kevuv.  — Tlie  Nc«  Billi 
lein  Hospital 

Exliib.tiuii  uf  !M(>iiiiiiiciitul  Modei.i  at  ibc 
British  Institution 

Clirouo'o.;  leal  Survey  of  the  most  en>in('iit 
All, sis  lo  ihc*  Co  i.iiioiK-cnietil  oi  (he 
.*«ixtei-iii}i  (  (.-iitury 

'i\V\L   IJOMLSTIC    COMMON- 
PLACi>liOOK. 

Domestic  I'locesses  tor  djiinir  V,  ooll«  n, 
Silk,  Cotl.in,  am!  otlur  StufT-,  ;i  per- 
manent Vi-llow,  Rid,  Criiiisim,  Blue, 
Blown,  I}i:H,  N;iiiki.eii,  untl  Fh\ui  Co- 
lour        

Easy  iMelliod  of  cxainininy  the  Niituie  of 
.Marls,  So  as  to  a^<eit;iiii  theil  agi.cnl- 
tiirai  VaiiH.' 

Pieservation  of  Water         

Method  of  as(  erlamiii",  hy  Chemical 
IMeans,  wlif-ther  a  I. line  or  Limestone 
be  fit  or  unfit  for  tlie  Hnrjioses  of  Agri- 
culture     

New  Method  of  "itaining  Wood  a  perinri- 
nent  Black  Colour 

BIOURAIMIICAL  SK ITCHES 
AM)  ANECDirn-S 

Anecdotes  of  the  Ahbt  de  lialiviere     .     . 
Anecdotes  of  the  Marquis  Carraccioii 

MISCLLLAMES. 

Extr;iordin:iry  Petition  of  Viscount  D'En- 
trecasteaux 

Familiarity  of  the  SwalluM' 

Historv  of  Susan  Strive  well 

The  Unknown  Benefactor 

Utsniptioii  of  the  New  Custom- House 

The  Fern  lie  Tattler —No  VII         .     .     . 

Some  Pai  licnlais  illustrative  of  the  Cha- 
r^ictir  of  Prince   Leojiold  of  Saxe-Co- 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 
Cramer's  celebrated  Air  "Love  has  Eyes" 


»9 


i20 

22  I 
ib  I 
27 

31 


Mazzivghis  Istrian  Air 

'i  he  Harmonic  .M  iscellany 

Kl.  sl  s  Com  iship  Daiit'cof  the  Russian 

FeasRiiis 

.'^ir.loHN  SrEVEN>o\*s  Vuli-ntiucS  Day 
L.>Ii)l  \'s  "  Ah  I  «hy  did  1  gallic  r  tins  de- 

licaie  Flower"        ....  .      .     . 

Kl  A  M.MARK'S  "  Fare  thee  well"   .     .     . 
\ViiiTAKi:i:'s  "  Fare  iliee  well"     .      .      . 

.^^ola's  '*  Fare  thee  well" 

CIjMViIns'  "  In  talr.i,  in  soolhio;^  Plea- 

suie"        

Addisox's"  Deare<;t  Rllen"     .      .     .      . 
KlAinALi  LT's  Voluiitiuy  lor  the  Oiif  III     . 
Bf.ai.i's  What  l.o'    What  ho  1   .      ."     .     . 
Kli'i^f.'s  The  Lay  of  the  \\aiiderer     . 
Ho>»  ell's  Practical  Inslruclions  (or  the 

P. alio- Forte 

.Auxiliary  Lessons    .... 

l5uTT(>>l  Li  v"s  Diciioiiaiv  of  Vlu'^ic    .     . 
Villi. 1 's  The  Tank,  or  Uubsiaii  D;i..ce 
.\lii!>ical  intelligence 


AGE 

.38 
ib. 


ib. 
lb. 


39 
lb. 
iU. 
ib. 


40 

ib. 
lb. 
ib. 
4t 


ib. 
43 


it>. 
ib. 


46 

50 


Exhibition  of  the  Britisli  Institution 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Manners  of  the  Modern  Greeks 
Hunting  the  GiruH'e 

FASHIONS. 

Ladies'  Opera  Dress jj 

— —  Mornins  Dr;  ss ib. 

General   Observatious    on    Fashions    and 

Lress r,3 

Frenih  Female  Fashioiss 5-, 

F&shionable  Furniture. --Saloon  Draperies  5s 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 

AND  SCIENTIFIC     ....      ib. 

POETRY. 

Love,  translated  from  the  Sjianish       .     .     60 

Hymn  to  \'euus 6I 

Love ib. 

Lines  inscribed  to  Mot  her  ^Lary  Helen  npon 

her  Half  Jubilee         6^ 

Apostrophe  to  tbe  Primrose       ....     16. 


L   Harrison,  Printer,  3/3,  Strand. 


^--    TO  OUll  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS.  -- 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  leqvested  to  transmit 
announceinenls  of  ivorks  which  tiiey  may  have  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheerjuilj/  tnscit 
them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense,  iSeiv  musical  pnblicutiorts  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Heview;  and  extracts 
front,  new  books,  of  a  vioderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable.  1    lo   vt/.'.-;?.   dh.Y 

Stella  will  perceive,  thai  we  have  attended  to  her  wishes,    -ry  3(ji  oi  babba  risaf*^ 
We  beg  leave  to  refer  X.  Y.  Z.  to  an  article  under  the  head  'of  Literary  Intelll' 
gence.     In  a77swer  to  his  question  respecting  Moris.  Le  Thiere,  wc  have  to  stute^  ihat 
this  artist  is  President  of  the  French  xVcademy  at  Rome.  , 

The  Extracts  /ront  The  Rival  Roses  and,  The  A^naJ  ls]e&^§hiiil,be  ^^iven  iftou^: 
Solomon  Sapient's  letter  and  Humaniiy  RewarcTeJ  sndll  have  an^eariy  pthce. 


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)  si  i'l  ^ngiaab  ail: 
oijibbs  sotbI  b  •^mu: 


>  Tsd  i^ljfr.oijpsiii 

,.11  n  v'j'>n(j'*?fxf'.  ■ 


[— 


J, 


■^ 

^ 

!*■ 

c. 

t 

.^■- 

L-, 

\_J 

THE 


B^epogitotj) 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  S^c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  11, 


July  1,  181(i 


^^  VII. 


FINE  ARTS. 

ARCHITECTURAL    HINTS. 

PLATE    \. — A    GOTHIC    CONSERVATOR Y. 


The  study  of  botany  lias  long 
been  atUled  to  tlie  catalogue  of  rural 
amusements,  and   it   has   jirovided 
an  embellishment  of  the  most  agree- 
able  kind  to  the  garden  and  also  to 
the  mansion  ;  for  instead  of  being, 
as  originally,  in  a    removed  situ- 
ation,    the    conservatory    is    now 
placed  in  connection  with  the  house 
itself,  with  which  it  elegantly  com- 
bines, and  gives  an  apartment  high- 
Jy    valuable  from   its    beauty    and 
cheerfulness.     When  the  conser- 
vatory is  included  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  house  on  the  first  for- 
mation of  the  design,  it  is  capable 
of  afl'ording  a  large  addition  to  its 
architectural  beauty;  and  when  it 
is  joined  to  it  as  an  apjiendage,  it 
frequently  becomes  so,  though  in 
a  less  degree  perhaps,  unless  cir- 
cumstances are  very  favourable,  as 
great  judgment  is  required  to  con- 
nect it  with  the  building  so  as  to 
display  its  proposed  lorms  without 
injury  to  those  ol  the  mansion  itself ; 
from    which,    indeed,   it   ought  to 
receive  its  character,  and  of  which 
jt  should  assume  to  be  a  part;  for, 
Pol.  11.   No.  f  II. 


however  agreeable  variety  may  be, 
incongruity  is   always   fatal   to   its 
charms  with  every  well   cultivated 
and  tasteful  mind.     Habit  perhaps 
has  lessened  the  impression  wJiich 
a  conservatory  makes  upon  us  vvlien 
formed   without    reference   to    the 
,  edilice  to  which  it  is  attached;  for 
j  at  first  being  merely  a  green-bouse 
placed  against  the  building,  which 
became     gradually     increased     to 
architectural  pretension    in    form, 
the  violence  that   has  since  been 
done  to  fitness  by  strange  mixtures 
of  style,  has  been  too  much  disre- 
garded. 

The  conservatory  is  distinouish- 
ed  from  the  green-house  by  the 
circumstance  of  its  affording  pro- 
tection only  to  the  plants;  whereas 
the  latter  is  used  for  rearing  them, 
and  it  has  become  an  apartment  iti 
which  they  are  arranged  for  dis- 
play, merely  allowing  space  for 
walks  or  a  promenade,  and  is  fre- 
quently used  as  a  breakfast  or  morn- 
ing room.  ^V'hen  separated  from 
the  house,  it  forms  a  rural  temple, 
or  elegant  central  building;  when 
B 


•2 


A    GOTHIC    CbNSERVATORY. 


joined  to  it,  it  should  combine  with 
the  breakfast  or  mornine^  sitting:- 
room,  to  which  it  is  properly  ap- 
pHcable,  botli  as  it  rehites  to  the 
time  of  clay  in  which  these  vooins 
are  in  coiinnon  use,  and  to  the  cheer- 
fulness and  health  which  plants 
afford  at  those  times.  It  is  attached 
occasionally,  but  iuiproperly,  to 
tlie dining  and  drawing-roonis  ;  he- 
cause,  as  is  well  known,  plants  ab- 
sorb in  the  evening  a  lar^je  portion 
of  that  quality  of  vital  air  that  is 
essential  to  human  existence,  which 
in  the  day-time,  and  particularly 
in  the  morning,  it  assists  to  supply. 
Plants,  like  animals,  consume  a 
large  portion  of  oxygen,  and  if 
this  be  denied  to  them,  they  wither 
and  die.  Preparator}-  to  some  al- 
terations of  a  conservatory  a  short 
time  since,  the  plants  were  remov- 
ed into  other  apartujents,  and  it 
being  winter  and  the  weather  se- 
vere, fires  of  charcoal  were  made 
at  night,  and  placed  amongst  them 
in  braziers.  As  the  proprietor 
was  not  aware  of  the  effects  of 
charcoal  on  atmospheric  air,  he  or- 
dered the  doors  to  be  closed,  in- 
tending that  the  plants  should  be- 
nefit the  more  by  these  fires  :  but 
as  a  due  proportion  of  fresh  air  was 
not  supplied,  in  the  morning  they 
were  found  to  have  suffered,  as  it  is 
possible  animals  so  circumstanced 
would  also  have  suffered.  The  most 
tender  were  quite  dead,  some  lin- 
gered a  short  time  and  died,  and  only 
a  few  of  the  strongest  survived  ;  but 
they  have  not  yet  recovered  their 
iormer  vigour,  alth.ough  this  is  the 
second  spring  since  the  circum- 
stance took  place. 

The  conservator}-  rej)resented 
in  the  annexed  plate  is  designed 
agreeably  to  the  Gothic  style,  and 


is  suited  therefore  to  buildings  of 
the  same  or  of  a  castle  character. 
The  ground-plan  is  divided  into 
three  compartments :  that  attached 
to  the  house  forms  the  entrance. 
l'he,centre  would  receive  the  high- 
est stages  for  the  plants,  and  it 
would  be  covered  with  a  roof  of 
glass.  Small  aviaries  might  bemade 
on  each  side  of  the  third  space, 
which  would  complete  the  avenue 
formed  from  the  entrance  of  the 
apartments  of  the  house.  The  in- 
terior framing  of  the  centre  pan 
might  be  constructed  upon  the  same 
principle  with  the  open  timber 
roofs  of  some  of  our  ancient  ba- 
ronial halls  and  churches,  which, 
springing  from  slender  pillars, 
would  ramify  with  great  elegance, 
combine  with  the  grouping  of 
the  plants,  and  very  properly  har- 
monize with  them  ;  for  their  forms 
are  so  like  those  of  rows  of  trees 
uniting  their  branches,  that  it  has 
not  been  unaptly  imagined,  that 
avenues  of  trees  gave  the  first  idea 
not  only  of  the  pointed  arch,  but 
of  the  groins  and  vaultings  that 
since  decorated  our  beautiful  Go- 
thic cathedrals.  The  close-grain- 
ed ceilings  of  the  extreme  conri- 
partments  would  give  force  and 
variety  to  this  arrangement,  which 
would  have  a  very  novel  and  orna- 
mental effect. 

The  glass  of  the  centre  part  to 
the  south  is  intended  to  be  removed 
at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  and 
the  whole  is  surrounded  by  a  low 
stone  terrace,  approached  by  two 
steps,  and  terminated  by  smaW  jets 
(l\ait.  This  platform  would  be  an 
agreeable  promenade,  particularly 
if  plants  and  flowers  were  taste- 
fully arranged  in  groups,  forming  its 
surface  into  a  diversified  parterre. 


THF,    NF.W    BKTllLl-M    HOSl'ITAL. 


Tills  building  may  he  executed 
in  stone,  brick  covered  with  stucc  o, 
or  wood-framing  and  brick-work 
mixed,  the  iVuniiiig  being  first  lath- 
ed, or  the  panels  being  filled  up 
M-iilibrick-uogging, and  thesnrf^ce 
of  the  timbers  covered  bv  tiles, 
which,  if  the  brick-work  is  allowed 
to  project  an  inch  before  the  lim- 
ber:3,  makes  a  good  foundation  for 
istucco.  This  composition  wny  be 
made  of  Roman  cement,  unless 
where  lathing  is  used,  and  then  it 
may  be  covered  by  any  of  those 
stuccoes  that  arc  cliirfly  composed 
of  lime  and  sand,  provided  the  tops 
of  the  walls  are  well  protected  from 
wet.  In  this  case  the  Iloman  ce- 
jTjcnbis  not  applicable;  it  needs  a 
fjr,nH?r."'  ffround-work  than  lathinir 
aflurds  to  it,  and  it  very  soon  cracks 
and  l)ecomes  disengaged  from  the 
tie  it  at  first  received  by  means  of 
the  interstices  hetu'een  the  latlis. 
The  Roman  cement,  when  used 
upon  brick-work,  forms  a  durable 
composition:  it  is  prepared  from 
u  stone  not  uncommon  in  several 
parts  of  the  kingdom,  but  not  usu- 
ally found  in  quantities  sufficient 
for  the  consumption  of  a  building. 
This  is  calcined  and  reduced  to  a 
fine  powder;  it  is  then  mixed,  in 
small  quantities  at  a  time,  with 
clean  sharp  sand  and  water;  and  it 
requires  some  dexterity  to  work, 
as  it  sets,  as  itis  technically  termed, 


I  in  a  way  similar  to  plaster  of  Paris. 
A  noti(jn  has  obtained  very  gene- 
■  rally    amongst     country     working 
1  people,  whether  masons,  bricklay- 
]  ers,  or  jilasterers,  that  the  Roman 
i|  cemetit  may  be  very  properly  and 
jl  usefully  mixed  with  liine  for  stucco, 
or  with   mortar  for  common  pur- 
poses;  and  lime  is  frequently  add- 
ed by  them  to  the  cement,  to  make 
it  "go  farther;"  that  is,  to  make 
a  certain  quantity  at  a  less  expense 
than  if  cement  and  sand  only  were 
used.     These  practices  are  fatal  to 
the  intention;  the  cement  is  de- 
stroyed  by    any    mixture  of  lime, 
and  when  used  with  it  for  a  stucco, 
it  will  remain  on    the  walls  but  a 
very  short  time. 

If  compositions  or  stuccoes  arc 
formed  with  good  stone  iime  and 
clean  sharp  sand  in  several  degrees 
of  granulation,  mixed  with  a  small 
quantity  of  water,  and  well  beaten 
together,  instead  of  using  a  large 
quantity  of  water  to  save  this  la- 
bour, a  very  excellent  stucco  is 
produced,  of  a  near  resemblance 
to  Portland  stone,  which  is  a  com- 
pound of  a  due  proportion  of  car- 
bonateof  lime,  silex,  and  akin^ine. 
The  stucco  should  be  made  as  long 
as  convenient  before  it  is  nsed,  and 
time  will  give  it  considerable  hard- 
ness, provided  it  is  well  covered  on 
the  top  of  the  walls. 


ARCHITECTURAL  REVIEW. 
No.  VI. 

THE    KEW    BETin.EM   HOSPITAL. 

Eovv  subjects  liave  lately  arisen  ]i  those  charitable  purposes  for  which 
so  interesting  to  humanity  as  that  i  this  hospital  was  instituted.  The 
now  before  parliament  and  the  pub- ;  same  spirit  of  benevolence  that 
lie,  relating  to   thie  execution   of  |;  formed  this  noble  establishment,  is 

B  2 


4 


THE    NEW    UtTIlLEM    IIOSriTAL. 


now  aniiiiatinpj  the  bosoms  of  thou-  i 
sands,  who,  touched  with  the  mi-  | 
sery  of  so  large  a  portion  of  their 
fellow-creatures,  wait  anxiously  to 
see  a  well  controuled  performance 
of  those  duties  winch  are  essential 
to  the  comfort  and  recovery  of  the 
patient,  and  so  correspondent  with 
the  British  characitr.  This  insti- 
tution commenced  in  the  year  1-247, 
as  a  religious  order  who  received 
and  attended  to  the  care  and  cure  of 
lunatics.  In  1545  Henry  VIII.  be- 
stowed it  on  the  city  of  Loudon; 
and  in  1675  the  lord  mayor  and 
aldermen  began  the  building  in 
Moorfields  that  has  lately  been  tak- 
en dovvn.  It  was  said  to  have  been 
designed  after  the  Tuilleries  at 
Paris,  and  that  Louis  XIV.  was  so 
incensed  that  his  palace  should  be- 
come a  model  for  a  lunatic  hospital, 
that  he  retaliated  the  supposed  dis- 
grace by  an  unworthy  appropria- 
tion of  the  form  of  our  palace  of 
St.  James's.  The  hospital  was 
erected,  with  a  zeal  truly  adinira- 
ble,  in  the  sho_rt  space  of  fifteen 
months,  at  the  expense  of  seven- 
teen thousand  pounds,  at  that  time 
a  verv  large  sum  ;  and  in  1734  two 
wings  were  added,  for  the  reception 
of  incurables.  The  centre  of  the 
building  and  the  original  wings 
were  terminated  by  turrets  or  small 
spires,  and,  with  others,  weredoubt- 
lessly  in  the  recollection  of  our 
great  orator  when  he  uttered  the 
well  known  defence  of  the  morals 
of  this  metropolis,  urging  that, 
however  much  the  foibles  and  frail- 
ties of  human  nature  must  subject 
it  to  the  awful  justice  of  an  Al- 
mighty Power,  yet  the  charitable 
establishments  abounding  in  every 
quarter  of  the  town,  raised  their 
spires  to  heaven  in  successful  sup- 


plication, that  the}'  might  be  re- 
ceived in  extenuation  for  many 
«*ins,  and  that  they  had  eventually 
brought  down  upon  the  country 
at  large  peculiar  blessings  of  its 
bounty.  '- 

At  the  erection  of  tliis  building 
the  property  without  the  city  walls 
was  open  and  in  fields,  since  which 
time  the  increase  of  London  and  a 
spirit  for  improvement  have  forrned 
several  considerable  streets  about 
it,  and  also  Finsbury-square :  the 
ground  therefore  becoming  of  i>rt^at 
value,  the  building  not  aHTording 
the  accommodation  required,  and 
needing  vast  repairs,  it  was  judged 
expedient  to  obtain  other  ground, 
and  to  erect  a  hospital  more  suited 
to  th.e  objects  of  tiie  institution. 
The  present  structure  is  an  im- 
mense pile  of  building,  capalile  of 
affordinij  every  accommodation  for 
the  patients  and  officers  of  the  es- 
tablishment, with  the  advantage  of 
healthful  air,  and  space  for  exer- 
cise and  recreation,  which  undoubt- 
edly the  former  should  be  allowed 
to  receive  at  proper  seasons.    i3rTn> 

The  new  Bethleni  is  situated  riilar 
Durham  Place,  in  St.  George's 
Fields,  and  occupies  the  site  that 
a  feAV  years  ago  was  (celebrated  as  a 
house  of  public  amusement,  hut 
of  profligate  reputation,  called  (he 
Dog  and  Duck:  and  it  might  be  a 
lesson  to  the  dissolute,  were  they  to 
reflect  in  liow  short  a  space  of  time 
this  spot  has  changed  its  character, 
and  from  the  resort  of  the  thought"- 
less,  appropriated  to  riot  and  dis- 
sipation, it  has  become  the  refuge  of 
objects  claiming  our  deepest  com- 
miseration, awfully  afflicted  witii 
the  most  dreadful  calamity  incident 
to  human  nature!  This  edifice 
consists   of  a   centre  embellished 


TFIK    N(:\V    BKTllLF.M    HOSPITAL. 


by  a  portico  of  the  Grecian  Ionic 
order,  surmounted  by  an  attic  and 
dome,  from  wliich  the  l)nil(liniij  ex- 
tends on  each  side;  and  its  front 
elevation  is  com[)leted  by  wings, 
which  have  corrcspondin<;  buihi- 
ings  behind  them,  and  whicli  form 
the  sides  of  the  hospital  :  these  in- 
sulated huildings  may  l)e  repeated 
to  any  extent  that  future  occasion 
may  demand.  A  front  court- yard 
or  garden  separates  the  building 
from  the  road;  this  is  inclosed  by 
nhaiidsome  wall,  and,  immediately 
before  the  l)uiUling,  by  a  lofty  iron 
railing  and  g:ites,  to  whicii  there 
are  small  lodges.  The  approach 
is  bv  a  spacious  gravel  road,  and 
the  portico  is  ascended  b}^  steps. 

The  plan  and  arrangement  of  the 
building  reflect  great  credit  on  the 
architect,  who  is  certnitdy  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  requisites  of 
an  institution  of  this  nature.  The 
separation  of  the  sexes  and  of  alt 
the  classes  is  well  provided  lor. 
The  building  is  judiciouslv  dispos- 
ed for  ventilation,  and  the  mode  of 
construction  is  well  a(,laptcd  to  du- 
rability, and  to  prevent  extensive 
injury  in  case  of  accidents  bv  fire. 
A  priiicipleforvvarii)ing  the  apart- 
ments by  steam  is  applied,  but  is 
yet  perhaps  in  its  infancy,  and  ad- 
mits much  improvement,  as  well  as 
a  more  extensive  application  in 
this  building  than  it  has  obtained 
at  present.  Free  and  rapid  venti- 
lation, and  a  generallv  diffused 
warnjth,  are  so  essential  to  every 
building  where  great  numbers  of 
persons  are  accommodated,  that 
too  much  pains  cannot  be  bestowed 
upon  the  means  which  so  well  pro- 
mise to  eHect  them :  but  it  is  to  be 
regretted,  that  there  are  not  averv 
considerable  number   of  flttes,   in 


substitution  of  chimnev  flues,  for 
ventilation,  connected  with  the  pa- 
tients' rooms,  as  it  is  well  known 
that  no  superior  means  have  yet 
been  devised  than  they  afford,  if 
properly  disposed,  either  at  the 
top  or  bottom  of  the  apartments. 
On  the  exterior  great  care  has  b(»^{i 
taken  to  conceal  the  shafts  of  the 
chimnies,  and  in  general  with  suc- 
cess,- but  these  flues  might  have 
existed  without  injury  to  the  tit^ 
chitectural  de^itrn. 

Although  this  building,  hy  its 
magnitude  and  symmetrv,  presents 
a  noble  appearance,  yet  there  is 
evidently  a  total  want  of  ]-)ropor- 
tion  in  the  parts,  occasioned,  it 
should  seem,  in  a  great  degi'ee  bv 
a  deficiency  of  material  to  forni 
them,  that  marks  a  ri^id  e>-onotnv 
in  regard  to  its  architectural  detail. 
The  entablature  of  the  portico  is 
small,  and  the  cornices  of  the  re- 
mainder of  the  building  scarcely 
deserve  that  itanie,  beiiVg  of  vef^ 
abridged  projections,  and  in  nearlv 
equal  portions  of  brick  and  stone; 
and  the  string  courses  and  window 
dressings  are  too  narrow  and  poor 
to  assimilate  with  a  portico  of  such 
magnitude  and  so  great  pretci>sion 
to  architectural  respectability.  To 
a  great  sacrifice  of  architectural 
embellishment  for  the  better  ob- 
jects of  the  institution  all  would 
readily  submit,  if  there  existed  a 
necessity  for  such  a  curtailment^ 
arising  from  too  liinited  mcari<-; 
but  as  this  is  not  expressed,  the 
dcficiencv  is  mnrfi  to  be  ri>gretted^ 
particularly  as  an  cxct  llent  oppor- 
tunity has  been  lost  of  making  this 
otherwise  noble  building  a  fineeX'* 
ample  of  British  architecture.    ^  ^ 

Amongst  the  features  of  nfebi- 
tecturc  perhaps  there  are  none  Sd 


6 


EXHIBITION    OF   MONUMENTAL    MODELS. 


expressl}'  beautiful  and  simple,  af- 
fording at  the  same  time  so  great  a 
variety  of  incident,  as  tlie  por- 
tico; but  a  great  portion  of  its  charm 
is  lost  whenever  it  is  placed  on  the 
north  front  of  a  building,  as  in  this 
case  it  is,  and  also  at  the  India 
House,  the  Surgeons'  Hall,  and 
several  other  of  our  public  build- 
ings: in  this  situation  it  gives  a 
ymfii  


weight  and  gloom  to  the  effect,  ra- 
ther than  that  brilliant  and  cheer- 
ful character  uiiicb  it  inspire;s 
whenever  placed  at  a  southern,  an 
eastern,  or  western  aspect.  The 
iron  railing  in  thefrontis  handsome, 
but  the  gates  are  injured  by  the 
sort  of  Catherine-wheel  device  with 
which  the  chief  panels  are  orna- 
mented. 


EXHIBITION   OF  MONUMENTAL  MODELS   AT  Tfl^,,., 
BRITISH  INSTITUTION.  .        „',^',„^ 

that  spirit  and  heroism  whieh  anii- 
mated  the  breasts  of  our  soldier*  ; 
some  g-enius  that  could  strike,  off  at 


For  the  purpose  of  carrying  into 
effect  the  several  votes  of  parlia- 
ment,   directing    the    erection    of 


public  monuments  to  commemo-  li  one  heat  in  the  forge  of  fancy  a 
rate  the  services  of  those  illustrious 
heroes  who  fell  in  battle  during  the 
late  war,  an  order  w-as  lately  issued 
by  government,  in  obedience  of 
which  one  hundred  and  four  sketches 
were  transmitted  to  the  British 
Institution  last  month,  for  the 
consideration  of  the  coauiiittee  ap- 
pointed to  make  a  selection. 

The  principal  works  were  for 
Generals  PicTON,  PoNSONBY, Hay, 
Gillespie,  Skerritt,  Goue, 
PACKENHAMjandGiBBS;  and  among 
the  contributors  were  several  of  our 
mosteminent  sculp  tors,  viz.  Messrs. 
Chantrey,  Westmacott,  Bacon, 
Bossi,  Bailey,  &c.  &c.  Some  of 
those  artists  furnished  sketches  for 
all  the  monuments,  others  only 
produced  three  or  ibur,  but  none 
limited  their  contributions  to  a 
smaller  number  than  two. 

The  splendour  of  the  achieve- 
ments of  those  renowned  warriors 
had  excited  a  strong  expectation 
throughout  the  country,  that  some 
bold  and  original  minds  would  start 
forth  among  our  sculptors,  capable 
of  infusins:  into  the  marble  some  of 


glowing  portraiture  of  great  j)er»- 
sonal  exploit,  or  of  general  vic- 
tory. High  hopes  are,  however, 
commonly  succeeded  l)y  the  an- 
guish of  bitter  disappointment.  Of 
tile  numerous  designs  exhibited, 
there  are  few  calculated  to  excite 
admiration.  Fame,  as  usual,  writlies 
her  shape,  with  her  wreath  and 
trumpet,  through  more  than  fifty 
designs;  Hercules  brandishes  his 
club  in  vain  through  fifty  more; 
Britannia  sat  the  miildle  occupant 
of  a  pedestal  through  a  score  or 
two  ;  there  were  also  naked  gene- 
rals and  armed  cuirassiers  without 
number,  and  allegories  of  doubtful 
meaning.  Amid  this  general  va- 
riety, it  was  pleasing  to  dwell  upon 
some  designs  that  were  eminently 
beautiful. 
The   Design  for    General   P/'<:lafj''s 

Monument ,  hy  Mr.  Chantrey, 
would  have  been  a  glorious  record 
of  tliat  hero,  had  it  so  pleased  the 
committee.  The  gallant  and  la- 
mented general  w;s  represented 
falling  victorious  ami<^  a  carnatjeof 
guards    and   cuirassiers ;    lie    had 


EXHIBITION    OF   MONUMENTAL   MODELS. 


niade  his  last  desperate  and  suc- 
cessful effort,  and  was  sinking  with 
a  glowing  consciousness  of  victory 
that  informed  his  whole  frame. 
His  personification  reminded  us  of 
the  death  of  the  poet's  hero  : 

"  With  dying  liaiul  above  his  hca<l, 
He  waved  the  fruijnK'iit  of  his  blade, 
Aud  shoulid  —  victory." 

Thesaine  artist  hail  other  designs 
of  equal  hcautv.  The  statue  for 
General  Ilav,  with  its  representa- 
tion in  has-rclief  of  the  battle  of 
Bayonne,  where  the  general  closed 
his  career,  was  conceived  in  a  mas- 
terly manner.  The  monument  lor 
the  gallant  Ponsonhy  was  of  no 
ordinar}-  beauty.  Victory  was  re- 
presented elevating  a  troi)hy  to  the 
admiration  of  mankind,  torn  from 
the  hrow  of  Fame,  who  lay  pros- 
trate beneath  her  feet  by  the  va- 
lour of  Ponsonhy. 

His  sketch  for  the  monument  of 
General  Gillespie  was  a  figure  of 
the  general,  with  a  bas-relief  of  the 
battle  at  Kalunga  (in  India),  wiiere 
he  fell.  This  was  a  good  compo- 
sition. 

.Sketch  of  a  Monutucd  for  Goteral 
f'jj'i  Fictoii,hy  Mr.  Gahagan. 

This  was  a  spirited  production. 
Genius  and  Valour  were  represent- 
ed rewarded  by  Victory.  Genius 
and  Valour  were  companions  in 
arms,  and  Victory  appeared  pre- 
senting them  with  a  wreath.  We 
imagine  that  this  is,  in  some  de- 
gree, mistaken  allegory  ;  for  the 
owly  rfewtinl  which  Victory  could 
allcgorioally  bestow  was  herself, 
But  her  wreath. 

Skehk  J<fr  the  Mo:>h-ntcnt  of  General 
"t    '  Pon.sPfthf,  by  j\]r.  Thced. 
''I'oThis  sketcifi  is  thus  described  by 
fche  artisf.i— '^This   distinguished 
feifieer'is  Baid   to  liave   owed    his 


death  partly  to  the  weakness  of  his 
horse,  which  fell  in  battle  while  he 
was  checking  the  too  great  ardour 
of  his  men.  The  con)position  re- 
presents him  receiving  a  wreath 
from  the  hand  of  Victory  in  the 
moment  of  death  :  he  was  fouad  on 
the  field  stripped."  ^iuoW 

Mr.  Tl.eed,  in  aiming  to  give 
his  monument  historical  [)recision, 
should  liave  taken  care  not  to  hav*e 
trail sposetl  events,  by  giving  his 
hero  the  laurel  of  Victory  after  the 
eniiny  had  stripped  and  insulted 
his  body.  This  is  like  the  mad 
author,  who,  in  his  arrnngement 
for  a  history  of  the  world,  placed 
the  deluge  before  the  creation. 
The  figures  are,  liowever,  so  well 
composed,  that  we  shall  not  quarrel 
with  the  artist  ibr  his  transposition. 
Sketch  of' II  MuiKiiiu'iit  for  Generals 

Packenham   and   Gibb-^,    by    the 

same  artist. 

This  sketch  was  finclv  imagined. 
Gibbs  had  already  fallen;  and  bis 
brother  general,  in  the  act  of  seiz- 
ing the  British  colours,  was  rushing 
over  his  body,  leading  his  men  on- 
wards to  the  attack,  and  inspiriting 
them  bv  h.is  heroic  example. 

Among- the  other  desigtis  was  one 
for  Generals  Packenham  and  Gibbs 
by  Mr.  W'estmacott,  representing 
two  generals  placed  on  a  pedestal, 
one  of  them  in  a  cuirass  :  and  an- 
other by  Mr.  Hopper  for  General 
Hay's  monument;  it  was  a  statue, 
will)  a  few  allegorical  accompani- 
ments. 

The  committee,  at  first  sight,  ex- 
cluded nearly  half  of  ilie  sketches 
sent  to  the  Institution.  'I  hey  made 
this  exclusion  in  so  unceremonious 
a  manner,  that  many,  who  did  not 
doubt  their  taste,  inveighed  against 
their    precipitation  ;    and    others, 


8 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  Oh  THE  MOST  I.MINLNT  ARCHITECTS. 


wlio  thought  their  judgment  ques- 
tionable, pretended  to  find  abun- 
dant justification  for  this  opinion, 
Theed's  sketch  ibr  Ponsonby's  mo- 
nument was  in  the  first  exclusion, 
and  his  other  for  Packenham  re- 
tained; but,  in  the  instability  of 
human  taste,  the  former  was  order- 
t?d  back  to  receive  the  honour  of 
being  selected  for  the  future  mo- 
nument, and  the  latter  was,  in  the 
end,  overlooked.  The  selections 
made  by  the  committee  were  high- 
ly flattering  to  the  rising  sculptural 
talent  of  the  country.  Mr.  Gaha- 
gan  received  the  order  for  the  mo- 
nument of  Picton,  price  three  t/iou- 
sand  (jruitiens  ;  Mr.  Theed  for  that  of 
Ponsonby  at  the  same  price;  Mr. 
Westmacoit  for  that  of  Packenliam 
and  Gil)bs,  price  tico  thousand  gui- 
neas; Mr.  ToUemache  for  Skerritt 
and  Gore's,  price  tzco  thousand  gui- 
neas; Mr.  Chantrey  for  General 
Gillespie's,  price  fifteen  hundred 
guineas;  and  Mr.  Hopper  for  Ge- 
neral Hay's  at  the  same  price. 

Besides  these  monuments,  Mr. 
Matthew  Wyatt  has  executed  a 
splendid  model  for  the  grand  naval 
and  military  monument,  which 
parliament  has  voted  to  both  ser- 


vices generally  for  their  splendid 
achievements.  We  are  afraid  the 
expense  of  the  work,  according  to 
Mr.  VV  yatt's  plan,  will  bean  effec- 
tual bar  to  its  execution.  It  would 
cost  considerably  more  tlian  a  mil- 
lion of  money,  and  is  intended  to 
form  the  centre  of  a  square,  to  be 
built  for  thepurjiose,  at,  of  course, 
an  enormous  additional  expense. 
The  shape  is  that  of  a  stupettdous 
pyramid,  nearly  four  hundred  feet 
in  height,  and  of  breadth,  &c.  in 
proportion.  It  will  present  exter- 
nally twenty-two  galleries,  which 
are  to  be  adorned  with  bas-reliefs, 
statues,  &c.  of  the  most  celebrated 
naval  and  military  events,  and  most 
distinguished  ofiicers,  during  the 
war:  the  reliefs  will  be  in  bronze. 
7  lie  interif)r  will  be  in  the  shape 
of  a  cone,  and  calculated  for  great 
apartments,  suited  to  the  business 
of  the  state,  for  the  reception  of 
works  of  art,  &c.  &.c.  Not  the  least 
interesting  part  of  this  magnificent 
undertaking  is,  we  understand,  a 
proposal  to  government,  on  the 
part  of  the  artist,  that  he  will  em- 
ploy 15,000  of  the  discharged  sol- 
diers and  seamen  in  the  erection 
of  the  work. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF   THE    MOST   EMINENT  ARTISTS  TO 
THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 

(Continued  fro7n  vol.  I.  p.  237.J 

The  preceding  portions  of  this 
survey  have  given  the  names,  na- 
tive country,    epochs,  works,  and 


merits  of  the  principal  persons  who 
distinguished  themselves  in  the 
various  departments  of  the  fine 
arts,  who,  by  their  genius,  as  well 
as  by  their  works,  contributed  to 
polish  their  rude  contemporaries, 
aijd  ennobled  their  sentiments  by 


operating  upon  their  religious  and 
moral  feelings.  We  have  there 
reviewed  the  ancient  world  of  art, 
and  a  new  one  now  opens  upon  us. 
The  magnificent  friezes  of  the  tem- 
ples of  Diana  of  Ephesus,  Apollo  at 
Delphi,  Pallas  Athene,  and  Jupi- 
ter Olympius,  strewed  the  floors  of 
those  ruined  edifices.  The  storms 
of  time  overthrew  the  Poric  co-.- 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THR  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


9 


Itimns  on  wliicli  they  seemed  to 
rest ;  and  around  them  lay,  in  wild 
confusion,  the  proud  capitals  that 
had  witnessed  the  sacrificial  pro- 
Cessions  of  antiquity.  On  their 
site^  ranges  ofdouble  columns,  sup- 
ported upon  innumerable  arches, 
now  rose  to  a  much  greater  height. 
In  the  cathedrals  of  St.  Denis, 
Rheims,  Strasburg,  and  Vienna, 
from  the  altars  of  St.  Sophia  at 
Constantinople,  Pavia,  Milan,  Flo- 
rence, Orvieto,  and  St.  Peter's  at 
Kome,  ascended  prayer  and  praise, 
which  seek  to  approach  nearer  to 
tjife  gods  than  the  smoke  of  sacrifice, 
as  they  are  designed  not  mere- 
ly to  propitiate,  but  also  to  move 
them.  The  temples  of  the  ancient 
world,  'in  which  the  gods  were  but 
symbolically  seen  and  worshipped, 
are  transformed  in  the  modern  into 
actual  habitations  of  the  Most 
High,  where  he  is  hin)self  person- 
ally present  at  the  sacrament  of 
the  host;  and  the  habitation  of  the 
Almighty  includes  also  all  the 
saints  of  heaven  without  excep- 
tion, as  prayer  may  here  be  offered 
to  them  all.  These  are  the  main 
ideas  which  have  governed  the 
style  of  modern  ecclesiastical  ar- 
chitecture. 

The  gods  were  buried,  together 
With  their  statues,  among  the  ruins 
of  the  altars  and  temples  of  the  an- 
cient world.  Sprung  from  chaos, 
before  the  formation  of  things,  ac- 
cording^ to  the  cosmogonies  of  the 
Egyptians,  Greeks,  and  Romans, 
they  were  finally  swallowed  up  in 
the  eVcrlasting  night  of  Erebus. 
With  the  fall  of  the  statue  of  Ju- 
piter Olynipius  the  belief  in  him 
V^as  for  ever  annihilated  ;  for  the 
^Velit  God  of  Christendom  is  the 
Uncreated,  eternal,  omnipresent 
f'ol.  II.  No.  VII. 


being,  whom  fate  or  chance  can- 
not artect.  Thus,  as  our  churches 
retained  nothing  of  the  temple 
architecture  of  antiquity  but  the 
column  alone,  so  the  delineations 
of  the  Supreme  Being  by  Christian 
art,  borrowed  notiiing  but  the  ex- 
pression of  sublime  moral  energy 
from  the  Jupiter  of  whom  Phidias 
had  given  to  the  Greeks  so  admi- 
rable a  representation.  The  youth- 
ful sculpture  of  Christianity,  guid- 
ed by  this  main  idea,  was,  there- 
fore, more  studious  to  exhibit  mo- 
ral than  merely  sensual  miracles, 
as  may  be  seen  in  its  earliest  pe- 
riod by  the  works  uiion  the  sarco- 
phagi of  the  martyrs.  The  su- 
preme God  is  here  metamorphosed 
into  a  moral  teacher,  and  displays 
in  his  miracles  not  a  corporeal,  but 
a  moral  power. 

With  the  destruction  of  the 
works  of  Polygnotns,  Zeuxis,  af)d 
Apelles,  the  art  of  painting,  in 
w^hrch  the  Gf^^eks  sci  prfefeminently 
excelled,  was,  in  like  manner,  to- 
tally lost.  If  gravity  and  dignity 
be  the  chief  characteristics  of  the 
style  of  all  sculpture,  grace,  ele- 
gance, and  loveliness  are  the  prin- 
cipal qualities  of  painting,  which 
it  is  capable  of  expressing,  as  well 
as  gravity  and  dignity.  But  that 
Grecian  charis,  that  rare  and  ten- 
der flower  of  the  youthful  imagi- 
nation, in  the  period  of  its  highest 
perfection,  appeared  in  the  paint- 
ings of  the  Greeks,  not  merely  in 
the  Ceramici,  the  Poecilia,  the 
Leschi,  and  in  palaces,  but  also 
more  particularly  in  their  temples 
and  sacelli:  hence  it  was  enabled 
I  to  adorn  the  temples  with  repre- 
\  sentations  of  the  kindly  deities  of 
pleasure,  an  Eros,  a  Venus,  and  a 
Bacchus,  which  must  be  for  ever 
C 


10 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


banished  from  the  temple  of  the 
Christian  aDra.  The  dances,  the 
groups  of  Graces,  Cupids,  Satyrs, 
Fauns,  were  here  in  their  right 
place;  and  thus  the  very  religion 
of  the  ancients  afforded  the  essen- 
tial motive  for  the  more  pleasing 
productions  of  the  plastic  art, 
which  the  religion  of  the  Christian 
a^ra  uiust  decidedly  condemn.  For 
this  reason,  nothing  but  the  cor- 
rectness of  forms,  together  with 
their  beauty  and  the  external 
charm  of  colours,  could  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  painting  of  Christian 
art,  which  sought  to  express  more 
profound  feelings;  and,  by  the 
manner  in  which  it  represented 
these  feelings,  it  has  exhibited  a 
view  of  the  inward  man,  which  most 
strongly  distinguishes  the  Christian 
£era  from  the  periods  that  preceded 
it  in  the  great  history  of  mankind 
and  of  nations. 

ARCHITECTS  ;    PERIODS    IN   WHICH 
THEY     FLOURISHED;     PRINCIPAL 
WORKS   AND    MERITS. 
Metuodorus,    of    Persia,    A. D.    320 
Many  buildings  ia  India,  whilher  he 
travelled :    some    at    Constantinople. 
He  is  the  first  known  Christian  archi- 
tect.. 
Ai.iPius,  of  Antioch,  350.   By  command- 
of  Julian  the  Apostate,   he   laid  the 
foundation  of  a  new  temple  at  Jeru- 
salem, but  the  work  was  interrupted 
by  flames  of  fire  which  issued  from 
the  earth. 
CiRiADEs,   of  Rome,   400.     A   church 

and  a  bridge. 
Sennamar,  of  Arabia,  450.  Sedir  and 
Khaovainack,  two  celebrated  palaces 
in  Arabia. 
Aloisius,  of  Padua,  490.  He  assisted 
in  the  erection  of  the  celebrated  ro- 
tunda at  Ravenna,  the  cupola  of  which 
is  said  to  have  been  of  one  stone,  38 
feel  in  diameter  and   15   feet  thick. 


He  also  displayed  his  talents  in  the 
reparation  of  many  ancient  edifices 
under  the  direction  of  Cassiodorus. 

St.  Germain,  of  Paris,  500.  The  plan 
of  the  church  of  St.  Germain,  previ- 
ously dedicated  to  St.  Vincent,  at 
Paris.  A  convent  at  Mans.  He  was 
bishop  of  Paris. 

St.  Avitus,  of  Clermont,  500.  The 
church  of  Madonne  da  Port.  He  was 
bishop  of  Clermont. 

St.  Agricola,  of  Chalons,  500.  Ca- 
thedral of  Chalons,  with  many  other 
churches  in  that  diocese,  of  which  he 
was  bishop.  '■■'-'■  ''lf^<'>-^ 

Eterius,  of  Constantinople,  550.  Part 
of  the  imperial  palace  at  Constantino- 
ple, called  Chalci.  ^ 

Anthemius,  ofTralles,  in  Lydia,  550. 
The  celebrated  church  of  St.  Sophia, 
at  Constantinople,  now  the  principal 
mosque  of  that  city,  and  several  other 
buildings  there.  His  style  was  re- 
markable for  grandeur  and  dignity. 

IsiooRus,  of  Miletu?,  550.  He  assisted 
in  the  erection  of  the  church  of  St. 
Sophia,  at  Constantinople. 

Chryses,  of  Dara,  in  Persia,  550.  He 
constructed  the  celebrated  dykes  along 
the  Euripus  near  Dara,  to  keep  the 
river  in  its  channel,  and  to  prevent  the 
water  of  the  sea  from  entering  the  ri- 
ver. He  excelled  in  hydraulic  archi- 
tecture. 

IsiDORus,  of  Byzantium,  600.  The  city 
of  Zenobia,  in  Syria,  was  built  by  him 
and  Johannes.  His  taste  was  not  pure, 
and  too  aftecled. 

Johannes,  of  Miletus,  600. — Spe  Isi- 

DORUS, 

Rumualdus,  of  France,  840.  The  ca- 
thedral of  Rheims;  the  earliest  exam- 
ple of  what  is  termed  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. 

TiETLAND,  of  Switzerland,  900.  The  ce- 
lebrated convent  of  Einsiedein,  in 
Switzerland. 

TioDA,  of  Spain,  900.  The  palace  of 
King  Alphonso  the  Chaste,  at  Ovie- 
do,  now  tlie  episcopal  palace.     Th^ 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


11 


churches  of  St.  Salvator,  St.  Michael, 
and  St.  Mary. 

BuscHETTo,  ofDulichium,  1016.  The 
celebrated  cathedral  of  Pisa;  the  ear- 
liest example  otvvliat  is  termtd  Lom- 
bard ecclesiastical  architecture. 

PiETRO  Di  UsT AMBER,  of  Spain,  1020. 
The  cathedral  ofCharlres. 

Alvaro  Garri.\,  ofEstella,  in  Navarre, 
1070. 

Raimond,  of  Montfort,  in  France,  1 1 39. 
The  cathedral  of  Lugo. 

DiOTiSALVi,  of  Italy,  1150.  The  cele- 
brated Battisterio  of  Pi.sa,  near  the 
Campo  Santo.  His  works  were  in  the 
Lombard  style,  overloaded  with  mi- 
nute ornaments. 

BuoNO,  of  Venice,  1 130.  The  celebra- 
ted tQWer  of  St.  Mark,  at  Venice.  The 
<:Vi^;S«i9>(iW,ith  the  Castello  del  'Uovo, 
at  Naples.  The  church  of  St.  An- 
drew, at  Pisloia. 

SuGGEK,  of  Si.  Denis,  lljO.  lie  re- 
built the  church  and  abbey  of  St. 
Denis,  near  Paris.  He  was  distin- 
guished by  perfection  of  what  is  called 
the  Gothic  style. 

PiETHO  DI  Cozzo,  of  Italy,  1170.  The 
celebrated  great  hall  at  Padua. 

WiLHELM,  of  Germany,  1170.  The 
hanging  tower  uf  marl)!e  at  Pisa,  upon 
which  Bonnano  and  Thomaso,  sculp- 
tors of  Pisa,  were  also  engaged.  This 
tower  was  originally  built  perpendi- 
cular; but  the  ground  consisting  ot 
sea-sand,  sunk  during  the  progress  of 
the  work  in  such  a  manner,  that  its 
centre  difters  with  its  periphery  about 
1 5  feet, 

Robert,  of  Lusarche,  in  France,  1220. 
The  cathedral  of  Amiens,  continued 
by,Tbcnias  de  Cormont,  and  finished 
t)y  his  son  Renauld. 

Et  lENNE  D  E  Bonn  EVE  iT„  of  France,  1220. 
The  church  of  the  Trinity,  at  L'psal, 
in  Sweden,  after  the  model  of  Notre 
Dame,  at  Paris. 

Jea!)1  d'Echelles,  of  France,  12o0, 
The  portico  of  Notre  Dame,  at  Paris. 

PitRP.E    D£   MoNTEKEAi,    of    France, 


1250.  The  Holy  Chapel  at  Vin- 
cennes.  The  refectory,  dormitory, 
chapter- house,  and  chapel  of  Notre 
Dame,  in  the  convent  of  Si.  Germain 
des  Prez,  near  Paris. 

EuDE  DE  MoNTREuiL,  of  France,  1250. 
Church  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  at  Paris. 
The  churches  of  St.  Catherine  du  Val 
des  Ecoliers,  uf  St.  Croix  de  la  Bre- 
tonnerie,  of  Blancs  Manteaux,  of  the 
Mathurins,  of  the  Cordeliers,  and  of 
the  Carthusians,  at  Paris.  His  style 
was  gloomy  Gothic. 

SanGonsalvo,  of  Portugal,  1250.  Stone 
bridge  at  Amaranto. 

San  Lorenzo,  of  Portugal,  1250.  Stone 
bridge  at  Tui. 

San  Pietro,  of  Portugal,  1250.  Stone 
bridge,  called  II  I'onte  di  Cavez. 

Lapo,  or  Jacobus,  of  Germany,  1250. 
Convent  and  church  of  St.  Francis,  at 
Assisi.  Palazzo  del  Bargello,  at  Flo- 
rence. 

Nicola  da  Pisa,  of  Pisa,  1250.  Con- 
vent and  church  of  the  Dominicans  at 
Bologna.  Church  of  St.  Michele  and 
tower  of  the  Augustins,  at  Pisa,  Great 
church  del  Santo,  at  Padua.  Church 
of  the  Frati  Minori,  at  Venice.  Ab- 
bey and  church  of  Tagliacozzo,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Naples.  Plans  of  the 
church  of  St.  Giovaimi,  at  Siena,  of 
the  church  and  convent  di  S.  Trinita, 
at  Florence,  and  also  for  those  of  the 
Dominicans  at  Arezzo.  He  inter- 
mixed the  Gothic  with  the  Lombard 
style.  About  twenty-eight  years  la- 
ter commenced  the  building  of  the 
cathedra!  of  Florence  by  two  monks, 
Fra  Giovanni  and  Fra  Risioro. 

Fuccio,  of  Italy,  1270.  Church  of  St. 
Mary  su  TArno,  at  Florence.  He  fi- 
nished the  Vicaria  and  Castello  dell' 
Uovo,  at  Naples;  and  was  distinguish- 
ed for  his  skill  in  fiMiihcation. 

Maglione,  of  Pisa,  1270.  The  cathe- 
dral and  the  church  of  S.  Lorenzo,  at 
Naples. 

Masuccio,  of  Naples,  1270.  Maria 
della  Nuova,  at  Naples.  Churches  of 
C  2 


12     CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


S.  Dominico  Magg.  and  S.  Giovanni 
Magg. ;  the  archiepiscopal  palace  and 
the  Palazzo  Colombrano,  in  the  same 
city. 

Maiuno  Boccanera,  of  Genoa,  1280. 
The  mole  of  Genoa-  vvas  begun  by 
him. 

Arnolfo,  of  Florence,  1230.  The  church 
offS.  Croce,  the  walls  of  the  city,  to- 
gether with  the  towers;  the  model  and 
plan  of  the  cathedral  S.  Maria  del 
Fiore,  to  which  Bruneleschi  added  the 
cupola,  at  Florence. 

PfETRO  Perez,  of  Spain,  1280.  The 
cathedral  of  Toledo. 

Robert  be  Covey,  of  France,  12S0. 
He  rebuilt  the  cathedral  at  Rheims. 

Erwin  von  Steinbach,  of  German}', 
]  280.  The  celebrated  minster  of 
Strasbnrg  w^as  superintended  by  him 
for  twenty-eight  years.  His  style  was 
the  purest  Gothic. 

Giovanni  DA  Pisa,  of  Pisa,  1280.  The 
celebrated  Campo  Santo,  at  Pisa.  Cas- 
tel  Nuovo,  at  Naples.  The  facade  of 
the  cathedral  of  Siena.  Many  other 
churches  and  palaces  at  Arezzo,  and 
in  other  towns  of  Italy.  He  is  re- 
markable as  the  first  architect  in  the 
modern  style  of  fortification.  His 
churches  and  other  buildings  are  grand 
and  cheerful. 

Andrea  da  Pisa,  of  Pisa,  1300.  Plan 
of  the  fortress  delia  Scarperia,  at  Mu- 
gello,  at  the  foot  of  the  Appennines. 
Plan  and  model  of  the  church  of  S. 
Giovanni,  at  Pistoia.  The  ductil  Pa- 
lazzo Gualtieri,  at  Florence.  He  was 
.  distinguished  in  fortification. 

AuGusTiN,  brother  of  Angelo,  of  Pisa, 
.  1300,  The  north  f.i9ade  of  the  ca- 
ihedral  of  Siena,  as  also  the  church 
and  convent  of  St,  Francis  in  the  same 
.  city.  The  church  di  S.  Maria,  like- 
wise at  Siena,  was  built  by  him  and 
Angelo  jointly. 

Angelo,  brother  of  Augustin,  of  Pisa, 

1300. — See  Augl'siin. 
GiAcoMO  Laniham,    of   Italv,    1330. 


Church  of  St,  Francis,  at  Imola.  Church 
of  St.  Anthony,  at  Venice. 
Jean  Rauy,  of  France,  134'0.  He  fi- 
ni  hed  the  building  of  the  church  of 
Notre  Dame,  at  Paris. 
William  Rede,  of  Chichester,  England, 
1350.  The  castle  of  Amberley,  Sus- 
sex. 

William  Wykeham,  of  Wykeham,  in 
Engltuid,  1350.  Plan  of  Windsor 
Castle.     Cathedral  of  Winchester. 

Philii'  Brlneleschi,  of  Florence,  1390, 
Cupola  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence. 
Palazzo  Pitti  at  the  same  place,  begun, 
and  about  half  finished,  by  him.  He 
set  the  first  example  of  the  purer  .style 
in  the  architecture  of  Italian  palaces. 

MiCHELozzo  MiCHELOzzi,  of  Florencc, 
1  400.  The  Palazzo  de  Medicis,  now 
Riccardi,  the  plan  of  which  was  de- 
signed by  Bruneleschi,  the  Palazzo 
Catlagiulo,  the  Palazzo  della  Villa 
Careggi,  and  the  Palazzo  Tornabuoni, 
at  Florence:  several  other  palaces, 
churches,  and  convents.  His  style  was 
distinguished  for  its  purity, 

Gicliano,  of  Majano,  near  Florence, 
1400.  The  Palazzo  del  Poggio  Reale, 
at  Naples.  The  palace  and  church 
of  St,  Marco,  at  Rome,  in  which  he 
employed  many  of  the  stones  from  the 
Colosseum.  He  was  an  artist  of  dis- 
tinguished merit, 

Andrea  Ciccione,  of  Naples,  1430. 
The  convent  and  church  of  Monte 
Oliveto,  at  Naples,  Several  other 
convents  and  palaces. 

Leon  Battista  Alberti,  of  Florence, 
1450.  Church  of  St.  Francis,  at  Ri- 
mini ;  church  of  St.  Andrew,  at  Man- 
tua. A  great  number  of  other  build- 
ings in  Italy, 

Christobolo,  of  Italy,  1450.  A  mosque 
at  Constantinople,  with  eight  schof)ls 
and  eight  hospitals  on  the  site  of  the 
church  of  the  Apostles,  by  command 
of  Mahomet  II. 

(To  be  continued.) 


13 


DOMESTIC  PROCESSES  FOK  DYING 
WOOLLEN,  SILK,  COTTON,  AND 
OTHER  STUFFS,  A  PERMANENT 
YELLOW,  RED,  CRIMSON,  BLUE, 
BROWN,  BUFF,  NANKEEN,  FAWN 
COLOUR,  &C.   &C. 

The  art  of  dying  consists  in  ex- 
tracting the  colouring  matters  from 
dilfcrent  substances,  making  them 
pass  into  the  fibres  of  woollen, 
cotton,  flax,  silk,  or  other  bodies, 
and  fixing  them  there  as  perma- 
nently as  possible,  so  as  to  resist 
the  action  of  the  liquids  to  which 
the  article  will  probably  be  ex- 
posed in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life. 
— Thus,  for  instance,  dyed  linen 
and  cotton  goods  must  resist  the 
effects  of  soap  and  water,  to  which 
they  are  necessarily  subjected  in 
washing,  and  woollen  and  silk 
goods  must  bear  being  scoured, 
which,  in  fact,  is  a  more  careful 
process  of  applying  detergent  ar- 
ticles in  a  particular  manner,  simi- 
lar to   the  operation  of  soaj)  and 


THE  DOMESTIC  COMMONPLACE-BOOK; 

Containing  aulhcntic  Receipts  mid  iniscclldncuus  Infonnalion  in  every  Branch  of 
Donicatic  Econoinj/,  and  of  general  Utility. 

of  alum,  in  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
water,  for  half  an  hour;  and  then, 
without  rinsing,  plunge  it  into  a 
copper,  containing  a  decoction  of 
twice  as  much  quercitron  bark  as. 
equals  the  weight  of  the  ahnn  em- 
ployed, and  agitate  it  in  the  dye 
liquor  till  it  has  acquired  the  in- 
tensity of  colour  wished  for.  This 
being  accomplished,  a  quantity  of 
powdered  whiting  or  chalk,  equal 
in  weight  to  ^-^^  part  of  the  wool, 
must  be  thrown  into  the  copper, 
and  the  mixture  suffered  to  boil 
very  gently  for  about  a. quarter  of 
an  hour  longer.  By  this  method  a.- 
bright  lively  yt,llow  is  produced. 
To  (h/e  Silk  a  bright  clear  YelloTv. 
Silk  may  be  dyed  a  fine  clears 
yellow  in  the  following  manner: — 
First  impregnate  tlie  silk  by  soak- 
ing it  for  a  few  minutes  in  soap  and 
water;  then  rinsing  it,  and  im- 
mersing it  in  a  solution  of  alum  and 
water,  and  then  passinoj  it  throufrh 
a  decoction  of  weld  till  the  desired 


water.    And  although  the  processes     shade  of  colour  is  produced.     The 


of  dying  comprehend  a  series  of 
complicated  operations,  which  are 
strictly  founded  on  chemical  prin- 
ciples, and  which  require  much 
skill,  we  shall,  on  this  occasion, 
exhibit  some  simple  processes  of 
this  beautiful  art,  that  may  be  suc- 
cessfully practised  in  an  easy  and 
economical  manner  by  those  who 
are  unacquainted  with  the  dyer's 
art. 
To  dye  Wool  a  permanent  Yellow. 
Woollen  yarn,  or  cloth,  may  be 
dyed  of  a  permanent  yellow  in  the 
following  manner: — Boil  the  yarn 
or  cloth  with  one-sixth  of  its  weight 


weld  is  to  be  tied  up  in  a  coarse 
bag,  and  put  into  the  copper,  with 
a  sufficient  quantity  of  water;  and 
after  having  boiled  for  about  half 
an  hour,  and  the  fire  slackened,  the 
silk,  previously  impregnated  with 
alum,  is  passed  through  this  bath. 
Gold  or  deep  I  cllozc. 
Add  a  small  quantity  of  pearl 
ash  towards  the  end  of  the  process ; 
or  still  better,  add  the  pearl  ash  ta 
a  second  decoction  of  weld,  and 
pass  the  silk  through  it,  after  hav- 
ing been  first  dyed  a  bright  clear 
yellow,  in  the  manner  before  stated. 


14 


PROCESSES    FOR    DYING   SILK,    &C.    VARIOUS    COLOURS. 


Oranse  Yel/otc 
may  be  dyed,  by  adding  to  tlie 
decoction  of  weld  a  small  quantity 
of  aniiotto.  The  silk,  being  first 
dyed  a  clear  yellow  in  the  manner 
before  stated,  acquires  a  rich  gold- 
en hue  when  passed  through  a  bath 


and  afterwards  dilute  the  solution 
with  one-fourth  part  of  its  weight 
of  soft  water.  Then  put  eight 
ounces  of  this  solution  into  an 
earthenware  pan,  with  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  water,  and  add  also  ten 
ounces  of  cream  of  tartar,  and  six 


of  weld,  to  which  a  small  portion  of  j  of  finely  powdered  cochineal,  and 
annotto  has  been  previously  added. 
Jonquil  Yellorc. 

This  colour  is  given  to  silk  by 
adding  to  the  decoction  of  weld  a 
small  quantity  of  crystallized  ace- 
tate of  copper  (crystallized  verdi- 
gris). 

To  dye  Cotton  Yellow. 

Let  the  article  be  first  well 
cleansed  by  boiling  it  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  with  a  small 
quantity  of  pearl-ash ;  then  im- 
pregnate it  with  alum,  and  dye  it 
in  a  bath  of   weld,    in  which    the 


boil  this  mixture.  In  this  bath  the 
article  to  be  dyed  must  be  im- 
mersed till  it  has  received  a  fine 
bright  colour.  By  adding  a  little 
turmeric  root  in  powder,  the  red 
colour  is  rendered  more  brilliant/ u^ 
The  colours  known  by  tlie  nan)e«' 
of  poppy,  cherry,  rose,  and  flesh 
colour,  are  given  to  silk  by  dying 
them  with  carthamus;  that  is  to 
say,  by  keeping  the  silk  immersed 
in  an  alcaline  solution  of  the  co- 
louring matter  of  carthamus  flower, 
into   which  as   much  lemoii-juice, 


quantity  of  weld  is  at  least  equal  to  !  or    instead     of   it    a    solution    of 
the  quantity  of  cotton  to  be  dyed,     crystallized  citric   acid,  has   been 


When  this  is  done,  soak  it  in  a  bath 
of  sulphate  of  copper  and  water  for 
twenty-four  hours;  and,  lastly, 
rinse  it  in  water,  and  suffer  it  to 
dry.  Instead  of  weld,  quercitron 
bark  may  be  used;  but  the  yellow 
d\^e  which  this  bark  gives,  is  not  so 
bright  and  lively  as  the  yellow  ob- 
tained from  weld. 
To  dye  Silk  Crimson,   Poppy  Red, 

Clieny  Red,  Rose  Red,  and  Flesh 

Red. 

Silk  may  be  dyed  red,  of  various 
shades,  by  means  of  cochineal  or 
carthamus.  It  ma}-  be  dyed  crim- 
son by  first  steeping  it  in  a  solu- 
tion of  alum,  and  then  dying  it 
in  a  cochineal  bath,  prepared  in 
the  following  manner: — In  the  first 
place,  dissolve  one  part  of  sal  am- 
moniac in  eight  parts  of  nitric  acid  ; 
and  add,  by  very  small  portions  at 
a  time,  one  part  of  granulated  tin, 


poured  as  produces  the  desired 
shade  of  colour.  The  solution  ot 
carthamus  is  prepared  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner: — Take  any  quan- 
tity of  carthamus  flower,  put  it  into 
a  bag,  and  squeeze  it  in  water,  to 
deprive  it  of  all  the  extractive  co- 
louring matter  which  can  thus  be 
separated  by  the  action  of  water  j 
and  repeat  this  process  till  the  wa- 
ter, thus  employed  for  extracting 
the  colouring  matter,  ceases  to  be 
tinged.  This  being  done,  infuse 
the  carthanms,  thus  deprived  of  its 
yellow  colouring  matter,  in  a  weak 
solution  of  carbonate  of  soda  in 
water,  which  will  extract  the  red 
colouring  matter  that  it  contains, 
and  which  is  soluble  in  the  alcaii ; 
and  if  to  the  solution  lemon-juice 
be  added,  th,e  red  colouring  matter 
again  becomes  pretipitaied,  and 
affixes  itself  to  the  fibres  of  the 


TROCESSKS    rOR    DYING    SILK,    &.C.    VARIOUS    COLOURS. 


15 


silk,  whilst  the  acid  of  the  lemon- 
juice  coml)ines  with  the  alcali  of 
the  carbonate  of  potash. 
To   dye    U  ool    Brown,    Fazc/if    and 
Nankeen  Colour. 
Wool  may  he  clyed  a  brown  or 


ture  nine  parts  of  indigo,  ground 
up  with  a  little  water,  and  keep  the 
mixture  boiling  for  about  half  an 
hour.  Or  a  still  richer  blue  dye 
will  beobtained  thus  : — Mix  up  to- 
gether one  partof  indigo,  two  ])arts 


fawn  colour  by  making  a  decoction   j  of  green  vitriol,  and  twoof  quick- 
of  the  green  covering  of  the  wal-  i  lime,  with  a  sufficient  quantity  of 


nut.     It  is  well  known  that  walnut- 


water;   stir  the  mixture  together, 


peels  strongly  dye  the  skin,  'i'o  li  and  suffer  it  to  remain  in  a  closed 
dye  brown  with  tlieu),  nothing  else  I  vessel  for  four  or  five  days.  With  the 
is  required  than  to  immerse  the  j  clear  liquor  thus  obtained,  wool, 
article  in  a  warm  decoction  of  them,  I  silk,  cotton, oranyotherarticle, may 
till  it  has  acquired  the  wished- for  '  be  dyed  a  permanent  l)lue.  The 
colour.  The  intensity  of  the  co-  :  article  comes  out  of  the  dye  of  a 
lour  is  proportioned  to  the  strength  j  green  colour,  and  turns  blue  1)V 
of  the  decoction.  The  walnut-  j  exposure  to  the  air.  When  the 
husks  may  be  kept  for  a  longtime,  I  article  is  thus  dyed  blue,  it  is  ne- 
indeed  for  many  years,  in  vessels  '  cessary  to  rinse  it  in  water  very 
filled  with  water.  The  root  and  l  slightly  acidulated  with  sulphuric 
bark  of  the  walnut-tree  give  a  de-  :  acid.     This  heightens  the  colour, 


coction  much  resembling  the  fruit- 
husk  :  it  may  be  employed  to  pro- 
duce a  very  fast  buff  or  fawn  co- 
lour; if  alum  be  added,  the  dye  be- 
comes somewhat  lighter. 

A  good  bright  and  permanent 
nankeen  colour  may  be  given  to 
cotton  by  iron  liquor  (acetate  of 
iron).  It  is  only  necessary  to  soak 
the  cotton  previously  in  a  weak 
solution  of  sub-carbonate  of  soda 
or  of  potash,  and  then  immerse  it 
into  the  iron  liquor:  or  the  article  to 


and  extracts  any  earthy  matter, 
which  would  give  a  harsh  feel  to 
the  stuff,  and  imjxur  the  lustre. 
Every  kind  of  stuff'  may  be  dyed 
blue  with  this  dye. 


EASY  MKTHOD  OF  EXAMINING  THE 
NATURE  OF  MARLS,  SO  AS  TO 
ASCERTAIN  THEIR  AGRICULTU- 
RAL VALUE, 

Although    the    examination    of 
marls  and  limestones,  with  a  view 


to  ascertain    their    fitness  for   the 
be  dyed  may  be  soaked  first  in  the     purposes  of  agriculture,  is  a  sub- 


iron  liquor,  and  the  fluid  may  then 
be  super-saturated  with  a  solution 
of  a  sub-carbonated  alcali.  It  must 
afterwards  be  rinsed  in  a  very  weak 
solution  of  sulphuric  acid. 
To   dye    Jt'ou/,    Si/k,    Cotton,    and 

other  ShiJ^'s,  a  permanent  Blue. 

Boil  in  a  pi|)kin,  or  saucepan, 
nine  parts,  by  weight,  of  pearl-ash, 
with  as  much  bran,  and  one  part  of 
madder  root,  in  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity of  water,  and  add  to  this  tnix- 


jcct  lamiliar  to  those  who  are  con- 
versant with  analytical  chemistry, 
it  will,  nevertheless,  we  hope,  not 
be  deemed  superfluous  to  lay  be- 
fore tlie  readers  of  the  Repository 
the  process  best  suited  for  the  un- 
learned farmer,  to  ascertain  the  na- 
ture of  marls  and  limestones,  so  as 
to  determine  their  relative  agri- 
cultural value. 

The  name  of  marl  is  given  to  a 
mixture  chiefly  composed  of  calca- 


w 


METHOD    OF   ASCERTAINING    THE   VALUE    OF   MARLS. 


reous  earth  and  clay,  in  which  the  I 
calcareous  earth  considerably  ex-  i 
ceeds   the  other   ingredients.     In 
agriculture,  a  variety  of  these  com-  \ 
binationsare  distinguished  by  par- 
ticular   names,    such    as    common 
marl,  shell  marl,  stone  marl,  &c. ; 
but  by   whatever  name   this   sub- 
stance may  go,  it  may  be  asserted, 
that  all  n)arls  are  useful  in  agricul- 
ture   onl}-   in    proportion    to   the 
quantity  of  calcareous  earth  which 
they  contain  ;   and  with  respect  to 
its  utility  in  manuring  land,  a  marl 
is  not  reckoned  of  any  value  unless 
it  contains  thirty-five  or  forty  per 
cent,  of  lime  or  calcareous  earth. 
The  easiest  mode  of  ascertaining 
this,   is  to  immerse  one   hundred 
partsof  the  marl,  thevalue  of  which 
you  wish  to  ascertain,  in  a  sulhci- 
ent  quantity  of  dilute  muriatic  acid 
(spirit  of  salt).     All   that   is  dis- 
solved by  tiiis  means  is  lime,  and 
tio  more  of  it ;  by  weighing  the  re- 
mainder, therefore,  and  subtract- 
ing it  from  the  \vhole,  you  learn 
the   exact  proportion    which    one 
hundred  parts  of  the  marl  contain, 
because  the  carbonic  acid,  which 
was  combined  with  the  calcareous 
earth,  is  expelled  by  the  muriatic 
acid.     The  loss  of  weight  of  the 
carbonic  acid,  therefore,  fixes  the 
value  of  the  marl.     Thus,  for  ex- 
ample,  if  an  ounce  of  marl  loses 
forty  grains,  we  conclude  that  the 
ounce  of  marl  contained  only  one 
hundred  grains  of  calcareous  earth  ; 
and  that  it  would  be  the  interest  of 
thefarmer  to  pay  five  times  as  much 
for  a  load  of  lime  as  he  must  pay 
for  a  load    of   marl,   provided    he 
should  be  obliged  to  fetch  it  from 
the    same    distance.     This    being 
premised,    the  following    method 


will  enable  any  person  to  perform 
investigations  of  this  kind  : — 

1.  Put  a  few  ounces  of  common 
muriatic  acid,  previously  mixed 
with  not  less  than  an  equal  quantity 
of  water,  into  a  tea-cup,  or  other 
vessel ;  place  it  in  a  scale,  and  let 
it  be  balanced. 

2.  Reduce  a  few  ounces  of  dry 
marl  to  powder,  and  let  small  por- 
tions of  it  at  a  time  be  added  to 
the  acid,  till  no  farther  efferves- 
cence or  frothing  up  takes  place. 

3.  Let  the  remainder  of  the  marl 
be  then  weighed,  by  which  means 
the  quantity  dissolved  by  the  acid 
will  be  learned. 

4.  Let  the  scale  be  next  restor- 
ed. The  difference  of  weight  be- 
tween the  quantity  added  to  the 
acid,  and  that  requisite  to  restore 
the  equilibrium,  will  shew  the 
weight  of  carbonic  acid  lost  during 
the  effervescence. 

If  the  loss  amounts  to  thirteen 
per  cent,  of  the  quantity  of  marl 
projected,  or  from  thirteen  to  thir- 
ty-three grains  per  cent,  the  marl 
analyzed  is  calcareous  marl,  that  is 
to  say,  marl  rich  in  calcareous  earth. 

Marls  in  which  clay  abounds 
(clayey  marls),  seldom  lose  more 
than  eight  or  ten  per  cent,  of  their 
weight  by  this  treatment.  The 
presence  of  argillaceous  earth  in 
marl  may  likewise  be  ascertained 
by  drying  it,  after  being  washed 
well :  when  kneaded  together,  dried 
and  burnt,  the  marl  will  harden  and 
form  a  brick.  Sandy,  marls  gene- 
rally lose  a  still  less  quantity  o.f 
carbonic  acid. 


PRESERVATION    OF   WATEU- 
Sir, — It  having  fallen  to  my  lot 
to  be  one  of  those  who  are  charged 


METHOD    OF    KKKPJKG    WATER   SWEET — TO    ANALYZE    LIMESTONE. 


17 


to  make  trials  and  observatiuiis  on 
tlie  best  metliods  of  preserving 
water  sweet  or  fresh  during  long 
sea  voyages,  1  take  tins  nietliod  of 
stating,  that  of  all  the  remedies 
tried  during  a  course  of  three  years' 
experience,  none  has  answered 
better  to  preserve  water  sweet  dur- 
ing long  sea  voyages  than  the 
practice  of  charring  the  water- 
casks  on  their  inside.  There  are 
now  in  one  of  his  Majesty's  dock- 
yards three  casks  of  water,  which 
water  is  three  years  old,  and  per- 
fectly sweet.  There  is,  therefore, 
little  doubt,  that  water  may  be  pre- 
served fresh  or  fit  for  drink  any 
length  of  time  in  charred  barrels. 
It  has  been  generally  supposed, 
that  the  putrefaction  to  which  wa- 
ter is  liable,  arises  from  its  contain- 
ing chiefly  organic  matter :  but  this 
is  not  so  much  the  case  as  a  real 
decomposition  of  the  water  being 
effected  by  the  chemical  action  of 
the  wood,  to  which  it  is  continually 
exposed.  That  tainted  water  may 
be  rendered  sweet  by  filtering  it 
through  fresh  burnt  and  coarsely 
pulverized  chaircoal,  is  sjifficiently 
known.  I  am,  with  respect,  sir, 
vours,  F.  Williams. 

Puitsioouth,  May  28,  Idl6. 


METHOD  OF  ASCERTAINING,  BY 
CHEMICAL  MEANS,  WHETHER  A 
LIME  OR  LIMESTONE  HE  FIT  OR 
UNFIT  FOR  THE  PURPOSES  OF 
AGRICULTURE. 

Every  farmer  knows,  that  there 
is  a  vast  difference  in  the  fertiliz- 
ing power  of  diR'erent  kinds  of 
lime  when  employed  as  a  manure; 
for  there  are  many  extensive  dis- 
stricts  in  this  country  which  fur- 
nish lime  far  inferior  to  the  lime 

To/.  //.  No.  rij. 


obtained  from  other  places.  The 
presence  of  magnesia  in  limestone, 
it  is  now  well  known,  proves  ex- 
tremely injurious  to  vegetation 
when  employed  as  a  manure.  The 
magnesian  limestone  may  readily 
be  distinguished  from  limestone 
which  affords  quicklime  fit  for 
agriculture,  by  the  extreme  slow- 
ness of  its  solution  in  acids,  which 
is  so  considerable  that  even  the 
softest  kind  of  the  former  is  much 
longer  dissolving  than  marble. 

The  following  is  the  easiest  pro- 
cess for  ascertaining  whether  a 
limestone  is  fit  for  agriculture  or 
not: — 

Put  into  a  tea-cup  one  hun- 
dred grains  of  the  limestone  to  be. 
examined,  |)reviously  reduced  to 
powder,  and  pour  over  it,  by  de- 
grees, half  an  ounce  of  sulphuric 
acid.  On  each  effusion  of  the  acid, 
a  violent  efliervescence  will  ensue; 
when  this  ceases,  stir  the  acid  and 
limestone  together  witlt  the  stem 
of  a  tobacco-pipe,  and  heat  the 
mixture  on  the  hob  of  a  common 
fire-place :  or,  what  is  still  better, 
put  the  tea-cup  on  sand  placed  in 
a  common  fire-shovel,  and  heat  it 
1  in  that  manner  over  a  clear  coal 
fire  till  its  contents  are  dry.  This 
I  being  done,  reduce  the  mixture  to 
powder,  and  pour  over  it  two  or 
threeounces  of  water;  heat  themix- 
ture  again  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  then  throw  the  whole  upon  a 
filter,  and  wash  the  insoluble  part 
on  the  filter,  by  pouring  over  it, 
repeatedly,  small  quantities  of  wa- 
ter. To  the  fluid  which  has  passed 
through  the  filter,  add  gradually 
half  an  ounce  of  common  pearl-ash, 
or  sub-carbonate  of  soda,  dissolved 
in  three  or  four  ounces  of  water, 
D 


18 


THR   ABBE    DE    BALIVIEEE. 


which  will  produce  a  copious  pre- 
cipitate, if  the  limestone  contained 
any  notable  quantitj'  of  magnesia  ; 
if  not,  the  fluid  will  only  become 
slightly  milky.  Heat  the  fluid  (if 
ruagnesia  be  present)  iiy  setting  it 
in  a  tea-cup  near  the  fire;  let  the 
precipitate  subside;  pour  off  the 
clear  fluid,  which  may  be  thrown 
awaj',  and  wash  the  white  precipi- 
tate with  warm  water;  then  pour 
it  on  a  fiJter,  the  weight  of  which 
is  known,  dry  and  weigh  the  whole. 
The  result  shews  how  much  car- 
bonate of  magnesia  was  contained 
in  the  original  stone;  or  deducting 
sixty  per  cent,  how  much  pure 
magnesia  one  hundred  parts  of  the 
lime  contain. 

If  burned  lime  has  been  used, 
deduct  from  the  weight  of  the  pre- 
cipitate sixty  per  cent,  and  the 
lemaiader  gives  the  weight  of  mag- 


nesia in  each  one  hundred  grains 
of  burned  lime.  •«  srIJ 


NEW  METHOD  OF  STAINING  WOOI> 
A  PERMANENT  BLACK  COLOlill.  i 
Take  one  part  of  crystallized 
triple  prussiate  of  potash,  dis- 
solve it  in  eight  ounces  of  water, 
make  the  solution  hot,  and  Ijrush 
the  wood  over  with  it  twice  or  three 
times.  This  being  done,  make  a 
decoction  of  logwood,  of  one  part, 
by  weight,  of  logwood,  and  four.of 
water,  and  brush  the  wood  over  with 
it  also ;  and,  lastly,  appl}-  a  decoc- 
tion of  gall-nuts,  mingled  with  a 
concentrated  solution  of  red  oxide 
of  iron :  brusli  the  wood  over  with  it 
three  or  four  times,  and  iit  will  now 
be  of  a  beautiful  blue-black  colour, 
which  is  permanent.  The  wood 
may  be  polished  with  at  hard  brusla 
and  black  shoemaker's  waxvi^>  ii-  - 

■i  u>~)  f>fh  lot 


vBrOGRAPHipAL  SKETCHES  AND  ANECDOTES.. 


— >♦< - 
THE  ABBE  DE  BALIVIERE. 


This  gentleman  was  one  of  the 
almoners  of  Louis  XVI,  and  per- 
haps it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a 
more  singular  character  ;  he  was, 
in  fact,  an  odd  compound  of  the 
devotee  and  the  man  of  the  world  : 
fond  to  excess  of  hunting  and 
play,  he  contrived,  nevertheless,  to 
perform  his  clerical  duties  with 
strict  regularity.  Simple,  bene- 
volent, and  well  intentioned,  his 
eccentricities  were  at  times  very 
amusing.  He  was  very  fond  of 
politics,  and  the  blunders  he  made 
in  conversation  on  that  subject  of- 
£en  created  mirtli  at  court.  Talk- 
ing one  day  with  Madame  de  Po- 
lignac  about  the  war  between  Eng- 
land and  America,   he  said,  very 


seriously,  "  I  have  several  times 
seen  the  o/;^^// of  Chesapeak  men- 
tioned in  the  papers;  it  must  bean 
excellent  benefice,  and  should  M. 
de  Rochambeau  prove  victorious, 
I  shall,  whenever  it  becomes  va- 
cant, request  the  queen  to  ask  for 
it  for  me  from  the  Congress." 
Though  the  al>b6  was  very  bene- 
volent, his  odd  manner  made  even 
liis  charities  sometimes  appear  ri- 
diculflw^.  One  day,  at  a  hunting 
party,  being  left  heliind  by  hrs 
companions,  he  overtook  one  of 
the  huntsmen  just  at  the  moment 
when  he  had  fallen  from  his  horse, 
and  broken  his  leg.  The  abbt-, 
striiek  with'  consternation,  dis- 
mounted iti  great  haste   to  assist 


THE   MARQUIS  CARACCIOLI. 


19 


THE  MARQUIS  CARACCIOLI. 


inm  :  being  in  the  midst  of  a  forest, 
the  abbe  looked  about  in  vain  for 
help.  The  huntsman,  in  tlie  mean 
time,  bein{T  in  great  pain,  groaned 
most  terribly;  and  M.  de  Baliviere, 
not  knowing  how  to  go  about  as- 
sisting him,  began  very  gravtly  to 
condole  with  him  on  his  misfor- 
tune, and  taking  his  snuft'-box  from 
his  pocket,  pressed  him  to  take  a 
pinch.  Our  readers  will  scarcely 
give  M.  de  Baliviere  credit  for 
much  understanding  :  yet  he  play- 

lljiv  

-OO'.- 

n  Htrv/   f: 

This  nobleman,  who  was  much 
liked  in  Paris  when  he  resided 
there  in  quality  of  ambassador,  was 
possessed  of  considerable  wit  and 
vivacity.  The  French  are  indebted 
to  him  for  the  introduction  of  Ita- 
iian  music  into  France,  He  sent 
for  the  celebrated  Piccini,  whom  he 
encouraged  and  supported  against 
z  powerful  party,  at  the  head  of 
which  was  Gluck,  who  was  then 
protected  by  the  queen,  Marie  An- 
toinette. 

The  marquis  had  been  ambassa- 
dor in  London  before  he  went  to 
Paris,  and  some  of  his  sallies  are 


ed  with  great  skill  at  the  most  dif- 
ficult games  ;  conducted  the  tem- 
poral as  well  as  spiritual  affairs  of 
his  living  with  great  judgment; 
and  shewed  good  sense,  as  well  as 
benevolence,  in  administering  to 
the  v/ants  of  the  poor.  In  short, 
we  might  sum  up  his  character  by 
reversing  the  two  last  lines  of  Ro- 
chester's epitaph  on  Charles  II. 

"  He  never  did  a  foolisli  thing, 

Nor  tv«:i  biiid  a  wise  one."  if 


peculiarities  of  every  nation  he  had 
visited.  Speaking  one  day  of  the 
passion  of  the  English  for  betting, 
he  said  very  gravely,  that  he  had 
been  near  falling  a  victim  to  ii. 
"  1  was  riding,"  continued  he,  *'  on 
the  high  road,  and  my  horse  being 
startled  at  something,  ran  away 
with  me.  Two  Englishmen,  who 
were  galloping  behind  me,  directly 
betted  a  couple  of  guineas,  one 
that  I  should  be  throtvn,  the  other 
that  I  should  keep  my  seat:  both 
were  totally  regardless  of  my  cries 
for  help,  and  the  horse  galloped 
on  till  we  came  near  a  turnpike, 
still  remembered  in  both  coun-  |  The  toll-keeper  immediately  shut 
tries.  His  present  Majesty,  with  :  the  gates,  and  I  thought  myself 
whom  the  marquis  whs  rather  a  fa-  [just  out  of  danger:  no  such  thing, 
vourite,  knowing  that  he  frequently  one  of  t\\c  two  who  laid  the  wager, 
abused  the  English  climate,  asked  ;|  called  out,  '  No,  no,  don't  shut 
him  one  line  summer's  diiy  whether  I  them  !  don't  shut  them!  there's  a 
he  did  not  fancy  himself  at  Naples,  wager  !'  The  man  immediately 
"  Ah,  sire  !"  replied  lie,  with  much  ;j  opened  the  gates,  and  my  horse 
quickness,  '*  the  moon  of  the  king  did  not  stop  till  he  had  got  a  mile 
my  master  is  preferable  to  your  beyond  the  turnpike."  It  is  un- 
majesty's  sun."  We  make  no  com-  (I  necessary  to  add,  that  there  was  not 
mentson  the  po/i7f//ei.s  of  this  reply.  ;|  a  word  of  truth  in  this  story,  which 
He  was  of  a  very  observing  turn,  jj  the  marquis,  however,  related  in  a 
and  exposed  with  much  drollery  |!  manner  that  would  have  imposed 
the  various,  and  sometimes  absurd,  W  upon  anv  body. 

D  -i 


20     EXTRAORDINARY   PETITION   OF   VISCOUNT   D'ENTRECASTEAUX. 


The  marquis,  when  appointed  to 
the  vice-royalty  of  Sicily,  was  far 
from  being  pleased  at  an  appoint- 
ment, however  honourable,  that 
obliged  him  to  quit  France,  a  coun- 
try to  which  he  was  much  attached. 
When  he  went  to  take  leave  of 
Louis  XVI.  that  monarch  said  to 
him, "  I  congratulate  you,  M.  I'Am- 


bassador,  on  your  appointment ; 
you  are  about  to  occupy  one  of  the 
finest  places  in  Europe." — *'  Ah, 
sire!"  replied  he,  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  the  finest  place  in  Europe 
is  the  place  I  quit."  The  point  of 
this  reply  was  his  allusion  to  the 
Place  Vendome. 


MISCELLANIES. 


EXTRAORDINARY  PETITION  OF  VISCOUNT  D'ENTRE- 

CASTEAUX. 


The  following  singular  petition 
was  presented  to  the  Queen  of  Por- 
tugal from  the  Viscount  d'Entre- 
casteaux,  formerly  one  of  the 
judges  of  the  parliament  of  Aix  in 
Provence,  in  France,  who  having 
fled  his  country,  after  having  mur- 
dered his  wife,  escaped  by  sea  to 
Portugal,  where  he  was  discovered 
and  apprehended.  The  French 
ambassador  formally  demanded 
that  the  criminal  should  be  given 
up,  in  order  that  he  might  be  sent 
back  to  France,  to  suffer  there  the 
punishment  due  to  his  crime.  Be- 
fore any  answer  was  given  to  the 
ambassador,  the  following  petition 
was  put  into  the  queen's  hands  : — 

"  I  had  not  a  soul  formed  for  the 
commission  of  crimes;  a  moment 
of  delirium  and  madness  alone 
plunged  me  into  the  abyss  into 
which  I  have  fallen.  I  pretend  not, 
however,  to  be  the  less  criminal, 
or  the  less  deserving  of  punish- 
ment ;  but  if  my  crime  is  too  great 
for  mercy,  at  least  may  1  hope  to 
excite  some  pity  in  your  majesty's 
breast?  Deign  then,Ogreatqueen ! 
to  listen  to  the  voice  of  that  pity, 
and  save  me  from  that  shame  of 


nao2  ni 

suffering  death  in  my  own  c6un- 
try,  by  inflicting  it  on  me  here.  I 
am  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
prejudices  that  exist  in  France,  to 
hope  that  even  after  I  should  have 
paid  to  justice  the  forfeit  of  my 
life,  my  memory  should  escape  the 
infamy  that  attends  those  who  fall 
by  the  hands  of  the  public  execu- 
tioner. Justice  having  once  re- 
ceived her  due,  no  trace  of  the 
crime  ought  to  remain,  and  preju- 
dice should  rest  satisfied.  May  I 
then  hope,  great  princess,  that  as  I 
call  myself  for  the  punishment  I 
deserve,  and  become  even  a  peti- 
tioner to  obtain  it,  my  soul  may  be 
freed  from  ignominy,  for  which 
nature  never  formed  it,  but  which 
it  has,  nevertheless,  too  richly  de- 
served ?  Were  this  my  prayer 
granted,  I  should  have  the  conso- 
lation, in  my  last  moments,  to  think 
that  my  name  would  not  hereafter 
be  remembered  with  horror;  and 
in  taking  the  last  farewell  of  the 
authors  of  my  days,  I  might  say  to 
them, '  Your  son  is  still  worthy  of 
you  :  he  has  done  away  the  disho- 
nour he  has  brought  upon  you  ; 
he   has   made   atonement   for   bis 


EXTRAORDINARY    PETITION    OF    VISCOUNT    D'ENTRECASTEAUX.     21 


crime,  and  is  thus  become  worthy 
of  your  compassion  !'     If  I  should 
have  the  great  happiness  to  excite 
your  majesty's   pity,    and  in  your 
mercy  you  sliould   be  incUned  to 
<;rant  my  petition,  you   need    not 
be  afraid  that  your  justice  should, 
in   the    least  degree,  infringe  the 
laws  of  nations,  by  dooming  to  die 
in  your  dominions   the  subject  of 
another  crown,   for  a  crime  com- 
mitted in  his  own  country;  on  the 
contrary,    I    Hatter    njyself   that   I 
shall    be    able   to    demonstrate    to 
your  majesty,  that  your  justice  is, 
in  some  measure,  bound  to  put  me 
to  death.     Tliough  I  am  by  birth  a 
Frenchman,    yet    it    is   not    as   a  i 
Frenchman  that  I  am  guilty;  it  is  !J 
not  the  French  nation  alone  that  I   | 
have  olFended  ;  it  is  as  a  man  that  I 
am    a  criminal,   and    all    mankind 
have  a  right  to  inHict  upon  me  the  [ 
punishment  of  death.     V\  herever 
there  are  nfc;n,  and  laws  by  which 
they  are  governed,  I  an)  amenable 
to  punishment  for  a  crime  levelled 
against    luinuui    nature:     I    carry  I 
about  me  a  mark  that  must  point  \ 
me  out  as  unworthy  of  protection,  ! 
and  wherever  I  am  found,  there  may  | 
my  blood  be  spilt  with  justice. 

"  In  this  country  I  have  publicly 
confessed  my  crime;   I  have  made 
known  the  culprit  to  your  majesty ;  ' 
1  am  at  once  the  accuser,  the  wit- 
ness,   and    the    criminal.      What 
more   is   wanting    but  judgment?  | 
which  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  ' 
pass  upon  me.  i 

"  1  entertain  the  greatest  hope  | 
of  obtaining    a   request   that   will  | 
(enable  your  majesty  to  unite  jus-  I 
tice  and  clemency.     If  the  com- 
punction of  a  soul,  filled  with  hor- 
ror at  its  crime,  can  excite    pity, 
you  will  extend  it  towards  me  by 


granting  the  request  I  take  the  li- 
berty to  make;  that  by  dooming 
me  to  death  in  your  own  domi- 
nions, you  may  put  an  end  to  n)y 
remorse,  and,  at  the  same  time,  en- 
able me  to  expiate  a  crime  at 
which  humanity  shudders.  If  I  am 
so  unhappy,  so  criminal,  as  not  to 
deserve  any  compassion,  1  will  ap- 
peal to  your  justice:  I  bring  be- 
fore you  a  man  guilty  of  the  most 
enorujous  crime,  and  call  for  his 
death, 

"  If  your  majesty  was  engaged 
in  a  war,  I  might  perhaps  have  be- 
sought you  to  aftord  me  an  oppor- 
tunity to  spill  some  of  my  blood  in 
your  service,  before  I  should  ex- 
piate by  a  public  punishment  the 
offence  of  which  I  have  been  guil- 
ty, to  the  end  tliat  my  death,  at 
least,  might  not  be  entirely  useless. 
But  as  your  majesty  has  the  hap- 
piness to  make  your  subjects  enjoy 
the  blessings  of  profound  peace, 
your  justice  calls  for  my  life  as  its 
due;  to  that  justice  I  hope  I  shall 
be  indebted  for  the  recovery  of  my 
lost  virtue,  the  security  of  my  ho- 
nour, and  a  deliverance  from  all  my 
pains.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  your 
majesty,  considering  the  enormity 
of  my  crime,  should  think  that  my 
blood  would  pollute  your  domi- 
nions, despair  alone  will  then  be 
my  portio!!.  However,  in  eitlier 
i  case,  even  in  the  agonies  of  deatii, 
I  shall  not  cease  to  otfer  up  my 
most  fervent  prayers  for  the  pro- 
sperity of  your  nuijesty's  reign. 
While  suspended  between  hope  and 
fear,  1  vv;iit  a  decision  that  will  fix 
'  my  doom,  I  am,  with  the  most  pro- 
found rtspect,  your  majesty's  most 
humble  and  most  obedient  servant, 
"  Brcnzi  d'Entrecasteaux." 
I      Somcnct. 


-2i; 


FAMILIARITY  OF  THE  SWALLOW. 


Dr.  Clarke,  in  his  Travels,  re- 
lates a  very  curious  circumstance 
in  the  natural  history  of  the  swal- 
low, wiili  wliich  he  accidentally 
became  acquainted  at  a  village  in 
Greece.  "  In  the  course  of  our 
search  for  antiquities,"  says  he, 
*'  happening  to  visit  the  shop  of  a 
poor  harber,  we  observed,  as  we 
were  speaking  to  the  owner,  in  a 
room  with  a  ceiling  so  low  pitched 
that  our  heads  almost  touched  it, 
a  swallow  enter  two  or  three  times 
through  a  hole  purposely  left  for 
its  admission  over  the  door.  With- 
out regarding  either  the  number 
or  the  noise  and  motion  of  so  many 
persons  in  this  small  room,  it  con- 
tinued its  operation  of  building  a 
nest,  although  within  our  reach, 
against  one  of  the  joists.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  admire  the  acti- 
vity of  this  little  animal ;  tlie  velo- 


•    ilWOij  Of 

city  with  which  it  went  and  re- 
turned; but,  ahove  all,  the  happy 
confidence  which  it  seemed  to  en^^ 
joy  in  its  security  from  molestation 
or  injury.  The  owner  of  the  shop 
entertained  the  superstition,  which 
is  common  to  all  nations  that  are 
visited  by  this  bird,  and  which  is 
alluded  to  by  Sophocles,  concern-? 
ing  the  sanctity  of  his  little  guest, 
deeminor  himself  fortunate  in  beinij: 
thus  honoured  by  one  of  yjpolld's 
messengers.  He  told  us  that  the 
same  swallow  had  annually  visited 
him  for  many  years,  but  that  this 
year  it  came  earlier  than  usual  ; 
that  it  paid  him  handsomely  for  its 
lodging,  its  presence  being  cohsi- 
dered  as  a  most  fortunate  omen, 
whereby  customers  were  attracted 
to  his  shop  vvheneVef  the  swallow 
arrived." 


:J  79lJ3d  bi:<}  UOY  .oO  

,at«9d-  HISTORY  OF  SUSAN  STRIVEWELL. 


TO  THE  EDITOR 


Sir, 


As  my  lady  is  a  subscriber 
to  your  Repository,  I  have  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  it;  and  observ- 
ing sometime  ago  a  reflection  made 
by  one  of  your  correspondents — • 
*'  that  if  servants  were  to  he  heard 
in  their  turn,  they  might  also  be 
found  to  have  some  cause  of  com- 
plaint;" I  thought  that  my  history 
would  prove  the  truth  of  this  re- 
flection, and  I  have  taken  the  liber- 
ty to  send  you  some  account  of  it. 
My  parents  were  very  poor  peo- 
ple, who  had  some  difficulty  to 
spare  the  money  necessary  to  send 
nie  to  a  day  school;  reading  and 


•  inih  'io 
writing  were  consequently  the  sum 
of  my  acquirements.  My  mother, 
who  was  very  notable  and  indus- 
trious, took  care  to  qualify  me  for 
service,  l)ut  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  lose  her  before  I  attained  my 
sixteenth  year;  and  my  father  sur- 
vived her  only  a  few  months.  This 
severe  loss  rendered  me  for  some 
weeksincapableof  doing  any  thing; 
but  an  aunt  to  whose  house  I  went 
on  the  death  of  my  parents,  soon 
reminded  me  of  the  necessity  there 
was  for  my  getting  my  bread,  and 
as  she  had  a  cousin  settled  in  Lon- 
don, she  gave  me  a  letter  to  her ; 
paid  the  expense  of  my  journey 


HISTORY    OF   SU.SAN   STRIVFWELL. 


23 


to  town  out  of  the  money  prod  need 
by  the  sale  of  my  parents'  few  ef- 
fects, and  I  set  out  from  home, 
with  many  charges  to  be  a  good 
girl,  and  many  wishes  for  my  suc- 
cess in  gcttinj^  a  situation. 

I  wislied  if  1  could  to  get  a  place 
as  lady's  maid,  but  my  cousin  told 
me,  she  feared  my  being  a  country 
girl  might  be  an  obstacle,  and  ad- 
vised me  to  go  after  a  situation  as 
housemaid  ;  and  finding  there  was 
bneWanted  at  Mrs.  Rigid's,  I  went 
fp  offer  myself.  Mrs.  Iligid,  who 
was  an  old  lady,  put  on  her  spec- 
(aqles  and  surveyed  me  for  some 
time  vvithuut  speaking;  at  last  siie 
asked  me  if  I  was  not  ashamed  of 
myself  to  come  after  a  housemaid's 
place  dressed  in  such  a  ridiculous 
manner  (my  dress  I  should  tell  you, 
sir,  wa§  a  black  stuff  gown,  a  black 
silk  handkerchief  on  my  neck,  and 
a  straw  bonnet  with  black  ril)bons). 
"  When  I  heard  you  was  a  country 
girl,"  juirsued  Mrs.  Iligid,  "I  was 
in  hopes  of  seeing  a  decent  com- 
fortable person,  dressed  as  servants 
were  in  my  young  days,  but  instead 
of  that  you  are  as  fine  as  any 
London  madam  of  them  all. " — "] 
will  dress  in  whatever  manner  you 
please,  ma'am,"  replied  I,  "if  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  take  me 
into  your  service." — "  Not  I,  in- 
deed !"  cried  she;  "there  are  places 
that  may  suit  you,  but  I  am  sure 
mine  is  not  one  of  them."  I  at- 
tempted to  reply,  but  she  angrily 
ordered  me  to  get  about  mv  busi- 
ness, and  I  returned  to  my  cousin 
very  much  dejected.  She  desired 
me  not  to  make  myself  uneasy,  for 
she  was  pretty  sure  I  should  not 
meet  with  another  lady  who  would 
find  fault  with  my  dress  ;  and  as 
there  was  a  children's  maid  wanted 


at  Doctor  Doublefee's,  I  went  after 
the  situation  immediately. 

I  was  shewn  into  an  elegant 
apartment,  where  Mrs.  Doublefee 
sat  reading;  she  turned  round  on 
my  entrance,  and  surveying  me 
with  a  look  of  contempt,  "Pray, 
young  woman,"  cried  she,  "  what 
do  you  want.?"  I  stammered  out, 
that  I  came  to  offer  myself  as  chil- 
dren's maid.  "Then  you  have  ;i 
great  deal  of  assurance,"  said  she  ; 
"do  you  suppose  I  should  suffer 
m^'  children  to  be  waited  ujion  by 
such  a  vuliiar-lookinji,  ill-dressed 
creature  as  you  }  Why  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  see  my  scullion  in  such 
clothes;  a  rusty  old  siuil"  gown, 
and  a  nasty  coarse  straw  bonnet!" 
— "They  are  my  best  at  present, 
ujadam,"  replied  I,  "  but  I  will  l)uy 
others,  if  you  wish  it." — "What,  I 
suppose  you  think  then,  that  if  you 
had  one  decent  suit  of  clothes,  that 
would  be  sufficient  for  a  place  like 
mine!  I  never  saw  so  ujuch  brass 
in  niy  life.  Go,  you  had  better  of- 
fer your  services  at  a  public-house; 
'lis  the  only  place  you  are  fit  for." 
I  was  too  much  dismayed  to  attempt 
any  further  excuse,  and  I  returned 
almost  in  despair. 

One  would  suppose  I  had  been 
asking  charity  instead  of  a  service, 
from  the  difficulty  I  had  in  getting 
a  place.  Some  ladies  thouglit  me 
tooyoung;  others  were  afraid  1  was 
not  smart  enough;  some  told  me 
they  were  determined  never  to  take 
country  girls,  because  they  had 
had  several,  who  all  turned  out  ve- 
ry bad :  others  preferred  country 
girls,  but  then  they  must  have  liveil 
two  or  three  years  in  service  in 
the  country.  At  last,  when  I  was 
beginning  to  despair,  I  heard  of  a 
situation  as  attendant  on  two  )  ounjj 


24 


mSTORY    OF   SUSAN    STItlVEWELL. 


ladies,   sisters,   and   although   the 
place  was  said  to  be  a  very  hard 
one,  I  went  after  it  directly.     As 
soon  as  I  entered  the  room  where  I 
they  were  sitting,  the  youngest  said  I 
to  her  sister,    "  Why,  Lord  !  Har- 
riet,   this   girl's   a    mere   country 
dowdy,  and  I  am  certain  she  is  good 
for  nothing." — "  How  do  you  know  | 
what  she  is  good  for  r"  replied  Miss 
Harriet.  :  "Come  here,  child,  and  i 
let  me  speak  to  you."     Siie  then 
began  to  inquire  what  I  could  do; 
but  I  was  so  frightened  at  what  her 
sister  had  said,  that  I  gave  a  very 
poor  account  of  myself:  neverthe- 
less, she  hired  me,  more  I  believe 
out  of  opposition  to  her  sister,  than 
from  any  other  motive. 

I  went  home  the  following  day 
quite  elated  to  think  that  I  had  got 
a  place  at  last ;  and  as  I  knew  that 
I  really  could  do  every  thing  that 
Miss  Harriet  required  of  n)e,  1  was 
resolved  to  convince  her  sister,  that 
the  country  dowdy  u  as  fit  for  some- 
thinsr.    But  before  I   had    been   a 
week  in   rny  place,  I   saw, clearly 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
ever  to  give  satisfaction  to  my  two 
mistresses,   for  whenever  the  one 
gave  me  any  thing  to  do,  the  other 
was  sure  to  set  me  about  something 
else.     I   had  agreed  to  wait  upon 
them  both,  to  wash  all  their  small 
linen,  and  do  what  needle^work  I 
could  at  my  leisure.     Miss  Sophia, 
the  youngest,  having  taken  a  dis- 
like to  me,  complained  continually 
that  every  thing  I  did  for  her  was 
wrong:  if  I  dressed  her,  she  had 
not  patience  with  my  awkwardness  ; 
whatever  pains  I  took  in  getting 
up   her  muslins,  she  never  found 
them  fit  to  be  worn,  and  she  pro- 
tested I  did  not  do  one  quarter  of 
the  needle-work  she  wanted.    Miss 


Harriet  was  displeased  with  me,  be- 
cause she  thought  I  paid  more  at- 
tention to  her  sister  than  to  herself. 
"It  was  always  tiie  way,"  she  said, 
"that  she  was  imposed  upon  bv 
servants;  these  creatures  knew  the 
easiness  of  her  temper,  and  they 
took  advantao^e  of  if  but  she  was 
determined  to  be  no  longer  a  cy- 
pher, but  to  have  proper  attention 
paid  to  her  orders."  It  was  in  vain 
for  me  to  say,  that  I  wished  to  <lo 
every  tlniig  in  my  power  to  please 
her,  she  constantly  declared  I  did 
not  take  the  least  pains  to  do  it; 
and  at  the  end  of  six  months  she 
discharged  me,  because,  she  said, 
I  atided  insolence  to  ingratitude, 
in  declaring  it  was  not  my  fault  if 
I  did  not  give  satisfaction. 

As  my  place  had  been  truly  un- 
comfortable, I  was  not  very  sorry 
to  lose  it;   but  I  resolved,  tl'.at,  in 
taking  another,  I  would  be  careful 
to  have  but  one  mistress.     In  a  few 
days  I  was  engaged  as  maid  to  Mrs. 
Tempest,  who    told  me  when   she 
hired  me,  that  1  sliould  find  her  a 
good  mistress,  if  I  deserved  it,  but 
I  must  not  mind  being  scolded  now 
and  then,  for  sbe  was  rather  pas- 
[  sionate.     As    I   had   been   scolded 
I  continually  for  six  months  before, 
I  thought  I  should  be  very  well  off 
j  in  being  scolded  only  now  and  then, 
and  I  went  home  in  very  good  spi- 
rits.    For  a  whole  week  my  mis- 
tress behaved  so  kindly  to  me,  that 
I  thought  myself  the  luckiest  crea- 
ture  in   the    world;    but  one  day 
having  the  misfortune  to  break  a 
smelling-bottle,  it  puther  into  such 
a  passion,  that  she  snatched  up  a 
heavy  china  water-jug,  and  threw 
it  at  me.     Luckily  it  missed   roe, 
but  I  was  so  terrified,  that  although 
she  condescended  to  say  she  was 


HISTOIIY    OF   SUSAN   STRIVEWELL. 


25 


sorry  for  it,  I  quitted  lier  the  next 
clay. 

Mrs.    Tlirifty,    my    next   lady, 
made  souic  difllculty  uf  enj^iif^ing 
mo,  bec-iuse  i  wished   to  siipulate 
for  leave  to  go  to  church,  and  some- 
tiines  to  see  my  cousin  :  with   re- 
spect to  the  first,  however,  she  said 
she  would  spare  me  wlien  it  suited 
lier  convenience  (which  1  must  ob- 
serve was  only  once  durin<j!;   nine 
months  that  I  lived  with  her)  ;  hut  I 
as  to  the  latter,  she  neither  allowed 
her  servants  to  go  out,  nor  to  have 
any  followers.     This  lady,  who  was 
rather  in  years,  and  had  no  family, 
was  very  notable,  and  as  she  fre- 
quently said,  that  idleness  was  the 
mother  of  mischief,  she  took  care 
to  keep  every  body  about  her  em- 
ployed.    Finding  that  I  was  a  good 
jieedle-woman,  she  gave  nic  jdenty 
of  work,  and  from  six  in  tlie  morn- 
ing till  eleven  or  sometimes  twelve 
at  nijiht,  I  laboured  without  inter- 
mission.     However,  aS  my  mistress 
was  not  ill  tempered,  and  sometimes 
encouraged  me  by  saying  I  did  more 
needle-work  than   any   other  ser- 
vant she  had  had,  I  bore  the  hard- 
ships of  my  place  very  well. 
*'    One  day  while  I  was  sitting  at 
'work  in  my  lady's  dressing-room, 
mv  master  entered,  and  asked  where 
she  was.    I  told  him,  1  believed  in 
the   drawing-room,    and   inquired 
whether  I  sliould  lot  her  know  that 
he  wanted  her.     "No,"  cried  he, 
"my  business   is  with  you:  'tis  a 
shame  that  so  fine  a  girl   as  you 
are,  should  be   labouring    in    this 
manner  ffom  morning  till   night; 
'*rhtitea.  plan  in  my  head  to  render 
von  more  comlortahle."  I  replied, 
■;that  1  was  ns  well  off  as  I  wished 
**tb  be,  and  f  turned  directly  to  leave 
the   room.      He  got  between   me 

To/.  //.    No.  Vll. 


and    the   door,   and   attempted    to 
catch  me  in  hisarms.   I  repulsed  him 
very  angrily,  and  at  this  mooient 
u)y  mistress  came  out  of  her  bed- 
chamber, which  communicated  with 
the  dressing-room.    My  master  va- 
nished in  a  moment,  and  she  began, 
with   passion,  to  abuse  me   in  ilie 
most  violent  terms  :   I   was  a  vile 
dissembling  hussy,  an  artful  hypo- 
crite ;  this  was  my  sanctity,  forsooth, 
to  inveigle  a  marrifd  man  I  but  she 
never  knew  any  pretenders  to  re- 
ligion   but  what   were    wicked    in 
their   hearts.      However,  she    had 
heard  all  that  passed,  and  she  would 
take  care  that   1  should  not  gain 
admission   into  another  family,  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  it,  as  I   h.ad 
done  her's.     "If  you   heard  what 
passed,    madam,"    cried   I,    "you 
must  know  that  I  am  not  in  fault, 
and  that  the  blame  is  entirely  my 
master's."      At   these   words    her 
passion    rose   beyond   all   bounds. 
"Was  there  ever  such  insolence!" 
cried  she,  "to  dure  to  blame  your 
master!  as  if  all  men  will  not  take 
liberties   with    such    forward,  vile 
creatures  as  you  are."     She  ran  on 
in   this  manner  till  she  was  out  of 
bfeath,  and  then  throwing  me  my 
wages,    she  desired    I   would  take 
my  rags,  and  get  out  of  her  house 
directly. 

I  went  immediately  to  IMrs.  Tem- 
pest, who    had    the    goodness,   on 
hearing  my  story,  to  say  she  would 
get  me  a  situation  ;  which  she  very 
soon  did,  with  a  widow  lady,  who 
told  me  when  she  engaged  me,  that 
she  wanted   little  personal  attend- 
ance, and  did  not  require  needle- 
work ;  but  she  wished  to   have   a 
trusty    ])erson    who   would    act   as 
I  housekeeper,    and   on    whom    she 
'  could  depend  to  let  nothing  be  \vast-» 
E 


26 


HISTORY    OF   SUSAN   STRIVEWELL. 


ed  in  the  family.     This  last  part  of 
my  office,  however,  was  a  sinecure, 
for  she  took  care  to  keep  her  house 
in  such  a  manner   that  we  should 
have  nothing  to  waste.     She  made 
it  her  business  to  know  the  very 
lowest  prices  of  all  sorts  of  provi- 
sions, and  as  she  bought  every  thiii.^ 
for  ready  money,  she  always  took 
care  before  I  went  to  market,  to 
tell  me  what   each    article  was  to 
cost;  and  as  I  did  not  dare  to  ex- 
ceed  the   price  she  mentioned,   I 
was  in   general  obliged  to  buy  the 
worst  of  every  thing,  and  my  mis- 
tress was   in    consequence  always 
dissatisfied  with    me.     She   never 
saw  such  bad  provisions,  she  said, 
in   her  life;  it  was  impossible  for 
her  to  eat  such  trash,  it  wns  only 
lit  for  dojjs.     If  I  told  her  it  was 
because  I  was  fixed  to  a  price,  she 
insisted  upon  it,  that  I  might  have 
purchased  the  best  meat,  &,c.  for 
the  same  money :  but  she  supposed 
I  was  too  fine  a  lady  to  try  to  get 
bargains;  I  did  not  care  hov^r  dear 
I  bought  every  thing,  because  they 
cost  me  nothing;   and  sometimes 
.^he  has  asked  me,  whether  I  was 
quite  sure  that  I  really  gave  that 
price  for  the  article.    As  I  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  strictest  princi- 
ples of  honesty,  I  was  much  mor- 
tified at  these  speeches,  and  one 
day  I   could  not  help  saying,  that 
if  she  suspected  me,  she  did  wrong 
to  suffer  me  to  lay  out  her  money. 
This  speech  produced  such  tart  re- 
proaches for  my  pertness,  that   I 
burst  out  a-crying.      My  mistress 
ordered  me  to  quit  the  room,  and 
not  make  myself  so  ridiculous ;  she 
had  said  nothing  that  ought  to  hurt 
piy  feelings,  if  1  was  innocent,  and 
she  had  no  notion  of  servants  af- 
fecting sensibility. 


Thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  my 
situation,  I  now  began  to  inquire_ 
for  another.  "  Miss  MeanvvcU.v^auts. 
a  servant,"  said  one  of  o^fifAiles-^ 
people  to  me,  "but  1  don't  think 
you  would  like  the  place;  sheis,aiv 
old  maid,  keeps  very  little  eomp^^-r_. 
ny,  and  I  fancy   is  either  poor  or. 
stingy."    Notwithstanding  this  un-^ 
promising   account,    I   waited., 9A_ 
Miss  Meanwell,  who  engaged  me, 
directly.     It  is  now  more  than  ten, 
years,  sir,  and   I  have^  lived  wijtb; 
her  ever  since,  and  shall,  I  hope>- 
continue  to  do  so  till  my  deatlv  or. 
hers.     I  have  not  what  most  ser- 
vants would  call  a  good  place,  for 
my   wages    are   small,  and  as   my 
mistress  dresses  in  the  plainest  man- 
ner, I    have  few  perquisites ;  but 
she   always   treats  me   kindly:    if 
through  mistake  or  inattention,  her 
orders  are  not  properly  executed, 
she  reproves  me,  but  without  seve- 
rity.    She  told  me  when  she  en- 
gaged me,  that  as  she  kept  only 
two  servants,  I  should  have  some 
things  to  do  which  perhaps  I  had 
not  been  accustomed  to,  and  she 
never  suffered  her  servants  to  say, 
"It  is  not  my  place,"  or,  "  I  was 
not  hired  to  do  that :"  but  as  she 
is  very  regular  and  methodical,  I 
soon  learned  the  duties  of  my  sta- 
tion, and  it  happened  sometimes 
that  I  did  more  than  was  expected 
froni  me;  whenever  that  was  the 
case,  I  was  sure  to  be  commended,- 
and  to  receive  some  little  reward, 
not  money,  but  some  trifle  that 
would  be  useful  to  me,  or  perhaps 
a  book  calculated  for  servants.    My  , 
mistress  allows  me  to  go  regularly 
to  church,  and  now  and  then  I  have 
leave  given  me,  to  ask  my  cousin  . 
to  come  and  see  me,  or  else  I  go 
to  see  ber-     Soon  after  I  went  to 


THE    I'iNKNOWX    BFNF.FACTOn. 


27 


live  with  Miss  Meanwell,  I  was  (  who,  if  they  were  treated  as  I  am, 
taken  dangerously  ill,  and  slie  had  i  could  be  wholly  insensible  of  the 
herself  the  goodness  not  only  to  kinthicss shewn  to  them:  but  I  can- 
see  that  there  was  proper  cure  taken  not  help  thinking  that  we  are  like 
of  me,  but  even  to  pass  an  hour  or  children — excessive  indulgence,  or 
two  at  a  time  in  my  room.  She  '  too  great  severity,  is  equally  pre- 
thinks  I  have  shewn  my  gratitude  judicial  to  us;  and  there  are  few 
by  refusing  to  leave  lier  to  live  with  mistresses  who,  like  Miss  Mean- 
Mrs.  Flareit,  whose  woman  has  the  I  well,  take  care  to  avoid  the  one  and 
most  easy  and  lucrative  place  in  J  the  other. 


town;  but  I  would  not  change  to 
serve  a  princess  ;  and  1  believe,  sir, 


In  the  hope  that  you  will  pardon 
my  boldness  in  troubling  you  with 


that,    discontented    and    fond    of  |  this  long  letter,  I  remain,  sir,  your 

changing  as   servants   in    general  I  very  humble  servant, 

are  acetised  of  being,  tliere  arefew  1  Susan  Strivewcll. 


THE  UNKNOWN  BENEFACTOR. 


S^v^^fr^-ears  since  a  benevolent  j'  who  am  I  ?" — "  I  don't  know.'* — 
old  'nniiV  ViSJwaiking  out  toward^  i  "  Then  you  should  l;avc  asked." — 
the  Spf^\<^el1)erg,  nenr  llalbcvstadt.  ij  "  In  that  case  1  should  not  have 
UC"  niet  by  tlie  way  a  girl  about  jj  been  ol)edient.  My  father  pu- 
sevet>  years  of  age.  "Father,"!  nishes  disobedience  with  the  tb.ird 
said  the  child,  "  be  pleased  to  give  rod."  —  "The  third!  how  many 
me  a  halfpenny  !" — "  A  halfpenny  !  I,  rods  has  he  then  .?" — "  He  has  one 


what  would  you  do  with  a  halfpen- 
ny ?" — "  Buy  a  bit  of  bread  with 
it."—*'  A  bit  of  bread  !  what,  are 
you  so  very  hungry  r" — "  1  have 
had  nothing  to  eat  since  the  day 
before  yesterday." — "  Surely  that 
must  be  a  fib;  your  red  chubby 
cheeks  tell  a  different  story." — 
"  Indeed  it  is  no  fib;  my  father 
once  beat  me  till  1  was  half  dead 
on  account  of  one."—"  What  is 
your  father  r" — "A  button-maker."  I 
— "  His  name?"—"  Lindner."—! 
"  W^hefe  does  he  live  ?"— "  In  the 
High-street." — "  Go  and  tell  Iiim  I 


for  every  class  of  faults."—"  Go 
and  fetch  your  father,  and  I," 
seating  himself  upon  a  piece  of 
timber  near  the  pepper-mill,  "  will 
wait  here  till  he  comes." 

The  girl  ran,  and  soon  returned 
with  her  father,  a  handsome  man 
in  the  prime  of  life.  "  Is  that  your 
child  r" — "  What  is  your  motive 
for  inquiring?" — "  She  asked  mg 
to  ffive  her  somethinfTi  and  becTGino- 
is  prohibited." — "  I  have  seven 
children,  and  have  not  sufficient  to 
maintain  one." — "No!  are  you  not 
a  button-maker?" — "  Yes,  and  for 


to  have  the  goodness  to  come  to!  that  very  reason  because  I   am  a 
n>e."  j  button -maker   I   have  nothing  to 

The  girl  set  ofV;  but  the  old  man     do.     People   have,    unfortunately 
called    lifer    back.      "  You    little  I  for  us,  given  up  wearing  such  but- 
goosecap,"    said    he,    "  to   whom  |  tons  as  we  make.     We  have   no^ 
would"  yau'  tell    yoilr    father    to    other  resource.     All   the   button- - 
come  ■^"—"  To  vou,  sir." — "  And 'i  makers  must  be  reduced  to  beg- 

E  2 


28 


TllH    UNKNOWN    BENEFACTOR. 


gavy." — *'  It  is  a  pily  :  as  you  seem 
to  understand  so  well  liow  to  bring 
up  chiUlren,  suppose  you  were  to 
turn  schoolmaster?" — "  School- 
master !  why,  I  cannot  read  ;  I  was 
kept  from  wy  youlii  to  work,  and 
never  learned  any  thing  but  button - 
making.  God  have  mercy  upon 
me,  with  a  dear  wife  and  seven  chil- 
dren!"— "  Have  you  not  repre- 
sejUed  your  case  to  the  assessor, 
and  applied  to  him  for  relief?" — 
*'  I  cannot  creep  and  cringe.  We 
have  already  parted  with  all  we 
had;  my  wife  has  stripped  herself 
of  every  thing,  from  her  jewels  to 
her  shift.  It  is  a  fortnight  since 
we  parted  with  our  last  farthing, 
and  are  now  living  upon  bread  and 
^vater."— "  Is  all  this  true?"— 
"You  may  believe  me;  it  is  but 
too  true." — "  Father,"  cried  the 
child,  "  it  is  not  true;  w^e  have  not 
a  morsel  of  bread." 

The  old  man  hastily  rose. 
"  Come  !"  said  he,  and  went  with 
them  to  the  town.  He  saw  the  pa- 
rents shed  tears  over  their  seven 
starving  children  ;  he  found  all  that 
had  been  told  him  literally  true, 
and  fell  for  the  situation  of  the 
poor  man  who  could  neither  read 
nor  write.  He  entered  into  con- 
versation with  him  on  his  mode  of 
bringing  up  his  children,  and  was 
delighted  with  the  soundness  of 
his  notions.  ''  1  have  thought  it 
useful,"  said  he,  "  to  keep  a  parti- 
cular rod  for  every  kind  of  fault, 
that  the  cliildrcn  might  learn  to  dis- 
tinguish between  them,  and  guard 
.  against  each  individuallj".  They  will 
not  tell  lies,  for  with  the  rod  ap- 
propriated to  lying,  I  have  accus- 
tomed them  to  spi  ak  the  trutli." 

"  There,    child,    go    and    buy 
bread,"  said  the  stranger,  putting 


some  money  into  the  hand  of  the 
girl  who  had  occasioned  this  visit ; 
"  but  make  haste  back,  and  be  sure 
not  to  tell  any  body,  that  an   old 
man  is  at  your  father's."    The  girl 
ran  as  fast  as  she  could  ;  and  the 
father  was  overjoyed  that,  for  one 
day  at  least,  he  had  wherewitii  to 
satisfy  his  famishing  wife  and  cliii- 
dren.     "  Oh,  sir,"  said   he  to  the 
stranger,  "  you   are   ati   angel   of 
God  1"     The  child  returned  with 
the  bread,  of  wliich  the  hungry  fa- 
mily partook.     The  old   man  en- 
tered   into   conversation    with    the 
mother  and  children.     He  took  a 
particular  fancy  to  one  of  the  boys 
named  Charles.  "  Come  with  me," 
said  he  to  the  boy;  "  your  father 
will  give  you  leave."  The  stranger 
walked   away;    the  boy  followed; 
and  father,  mother,  brothers,  and 
sisters,  looked  after  them  till  they 
were  out  of  sight.     The  old  man 
returned  to  the  pepper-mill,  with- 
out speaking   to    the    boy   by  the 
way,    and   seating    himself    again 
upon    t!)e  timber,   wrote   with   his 
pencil    upon    a    piece    of    paper, 
which  he  gave  to  his  young  com- 
panion, spying.  "  Carry  it  to  your 
I  father."      'The   boy    ran    with    all 
possil.ile  speed,  and  obeyed  his  di- 
rection.    The  father,  ashamed  that 
he  could  not  read  what  was  written 
upon   the    paper,   carried   it   to   a 
neighbour,   a  baker,  to  learn  the 
purport  of   it.      The   words   were 
these: — "  Until    such    buttons    as 
are   nuxde   by    the    button-makers 
come  into  fashion  again,  Lindner, 
the    button-maker,    shall    receive- 
four  groschen  (sixpence)  per  day." 
Lindner  lost  no  time  to  run  after 
tl>e   stranger,   for  the  purpose  of 
expressing  his  gratitude;    but   he 
could   neither  see    nor   hear    any 


THL;    NliW    CUSTC).\J-UOU.?E. 


29 


thing  of  his  henefactor.  Pour  tUi)f> 
aftcruarils  lie  received,  hy  coach, 
305  Ibur-groschen  pieces,  and  the 
I'oHou'ing  year,  on  the  same  day, 
the  like  sum.  It  has  now  been  re- 
gularly transmitted  tor  seven  suc- 
cessive years.  I\Ietal  buttons  are 
still  in  fashion  ;  the  old  juan  is  not 
discovered;  and  as  he  has  so  well 
contrived  to  remain  concealed,  and 
consequently  wishes  to  be  so,  I 
would  earnestly  entreat  our  collec- 
tors of  anecdotes,  who  take  such 


|;ains  tospy  out  and  trumpet  abroad 
every  good  action,  to  give  them- 
selves no  concern  about  this  old 
nian.  They  would  doubtless  only 
spoil  his  pleasure,  for  they  have 
already  seen  that  he  has  no  wish  to 
be  called  an  angel  of  God. 

This  story  is  related  by  the  Ger- 
man poet  Gleim,  and,  to  his  ho- 
nour, we  are  enabled  to  add,  that  he 
was  himself  the  old  man  who  fic-ures 
in  it — a  fact  that  was  not  known  till 
after  his  death. 


Plate  3.— THE  NEW  CUSTOM-HOUSE. 


So  early  as  the  year  970  the 
king's  customs  were  principally 
collected  at  Billingsgate,  and  then 
to  no  considerable  amount ;  as  even 
in  1268,  the  half-year's  customs  for 
foreign  merchantlize  in  tlie  city  of 
London  came  only  to  75/.  Gs.  lOd. 
In  the  year  1383  a  custom-house 
was  built  by  John  Churchman  on 
the  site  of  tlie  late  edifice,  thougJ! 
at  that  time,  and  long  after,  the 
customs  were  collected  in  different 
parts  of  the  city.  About  1559,  the 
loss  to  the  revenue  being  discover- 
ed, an  act  was  passed  to  compel 
persons  to  land  their  goods  in  such 
places  as  were  appointed  by  the 
commissioners  of  revenue;  and  a 
new  Custom- House  was  erected. 
In  1590,  towards  the  close  of  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  the  customs 
amounted  to  50,000/. :  at  first  they 
had  been  farmed  to  Sir  Thomas 
Smith  at  14,000/.  a  year;  after- 
v.ards  at  42,000/.;  and  finally  at 
50,000/. 

In  lb41,  just  before  the  begin- 
ning of  the   civil  troubles  of  the 
country,   the   customs   brought   in 
500,000/.  a  year  ;  but  the  broils  in  ] 
which  it  was  involved,  had  reduced 


them,  at  the  period  of  the  Restora- 
tion, about  110,000/.  yearly.     The 
average  nett  customs  paid  into  the 
Exchequer    in    the    last   years    of 
William  III.  was  417,186/.;  during 
the  wars  of  Anne  1,257,332/.;  the 
first  of  George  I.    1,588,162/.;  of 
George   II.   1,621,731/.;   the   first 
'[  year  of  George  III.  1,969,934/. ;  in 
1781,  2,745,2u0/. ;  an.i  in  four  years, 
from  1802  to  1805,  botli  inclusive, 
the  real  annual   average  value  of 
imports  was  53,240,000/.    The  real 
annual  average  of  foreign  goods 
and  British  manufactures  exported 
in   four  years,  from   1802  to  1805, 
was  56,611,000/.    In  the  year  1784, 
the  shipping  in  the  merchants'  ser- 
vice   belonging  to    Great    Britain 
and   her   colonies,    not   including 
Ireland,  was  1,301,000  tons,  navi- 
gated by  101,870  seamen.   In  1805 
it  had  increased  to  2,226,000  tons; 
navigated  by  152,642  seamen  ;  and 
the  real  value  of  the  exports  of 
British  manufactures,  wliich  were 
in   1784  18,603,000/.  had   in   1805 
increased  to  41,068,000/.  The  pro- 
duce of  our  fisheries,  whicli  in  1784 
was  of  the  value  of  129,000/.  had  in 
1805  increased  to  484,000/. 


30 


THE   NEW   CUSTOM-HOUSE. 


The  Custora-House  erected  at 
the  commencement  of  Queen  Eli- 
zabeth's reign  having  been  de- 
stroyed by  the  great  contiagrution 
in  1666,  another  fabric  rose  in  its 
place,  at  an  expense  of  10,000/. 
This  structure  was  also  burned 
down  on  the  13th  January,  1715, 
togetherwith  120  houses  inThanies- 
street ;  on  which  occasion  fifty  per- 
sons perished  in  the  flames.  It  was 
again  rebuilt  in  a  substantial  man- 
ner of  brick  and  stone,  and  upon  a 
noble  scale,  the  whole  edifice  being 
189  feet  in  length  ;  but  this,  like  its 
predecessors,  was  destined  to  be- 
come a  prey  to  the  flames,  by 
which  it  was  totally  consumed  on 
the  12th  of  February,  J  814. 

Prior  to  this  event,  the  Custom- 
House  was  found  to  be  inadequate 
to  the  vast  increase  of  commercial 
business ;  and  as  the  term  of  its  in- 
vestment in  trustees  for  the  crown, 
at  a  rent  of  1960/.  per  annum,  was 
about  to  expire,  the  government, 
at  the  suggestion  of  the  Board  of 
Customs,  abandoned  the  idea  of 
making  additions  to  the  old  budd- 
ing, and  directed  a  new  Custom- 
House  to  be  erected  on  a  piece  of 
ground  adjoining  to  the  former, 
between  it  and  Billingsgate.  This 
ground  had  become,  in  great  part, 
vacant  by  a  fire  in  May,  1808,  and 
for  this  purpose  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment was  passed  in  1812  :  accord- 
ingly plans  were  prepared  for  a 
building  on  a  magnificent  scale, 
and  of  a  very  classic  design,  the 
first  stone  of  which  was  laid,  with 
the  usual  ceremonies,  at  the  south- 
east corner  of  the  proposed  build- 
ing, on  the  25th  of  October,  1813. 
This  building  is  great  in  its  fea- 
tures of  design,  and  substantial  in 
the  dimensions  of  its  parts,  and  the 


genuine  taste  with  which  the  south 
front  in  particular  is  designed,  is 
highly  honourable  to  the  abilities 
of  Mr.  Laing,  the  architect:  but, 
unfortunately,  the  situation  is  not 
favourable  to  a  display  or  to  an  in- 
spection of  its  merits ;  for  the  gran- 
deur of  the  outline  cannot  be  suffi- 
ciently seen,  owing  to  the  compa- 
ratively confined  terrace  or  quay  in 
front  of  it,  to  the  crowd  of  ship- 
ping that  of  necessity  intervenes 
between  this  and  the  opposite  sliore, 
from  which  it  could  best  be  view- 
ed ;  while  this  shore  affords  no  fur- 
ther temptation,  were  it  otherwise, 
to  induce  the  visit  of  tlie  architec- 
tural amateur.  The  front  is  of 
Portland  stone,  and  consists  of  an 
Ionic  superstructure,  sui)ported  by 
a  basement,  and  finished  by  an  at- 
tic. The  centre  of  the  building 
contains  the  great  room,  wliich  is 
lighted  by  nine  large  arched  win- 
dows; the  central  entrance  beneat't 
is  by  flights  of  steps  on  each  side  ; 
and  a  projecting  portion  of  the 
basement  sustains  recumbent  fi- 
gures of  Ocean  and  Commerce. 
The  attic  of  the  centre  is  decorat- 
ed by  a  fine  bas-relief  200  feet 
lon-j;,  with  fissures  5  feet  6  inches 
high,  representing  our  commercial 
alliances,  and  executed  by  Mr. 
Bubb.  Above  this  is  a  group  of 
figures  representing  Industry  and 
Ingenuity,  supporting  a  dial. 

The  wings,  if  they  may  so  be 
called,  being  symmetrical  com- 
partments of  the  front,  to  wliich  all 
the  above  forms  a  centre,  contains 
each  a  centre  of  insulated  columns 
of  the  Ionic  order ;  and  in  its  height 
an  additional  story  is  introduced, 
without  injury  to  the  continuity  of 
the  lines  of  the  cornices  and  irh-' 
posts,  vrhich  are  here  essential  fed- 


THE    FEMALE   TaTTI.KR. 


31 


tures  of  the  composition :  and 
great  care  has  been  taken  to  guard 
against  a  recurrence  of  those  tle- 
structive  accidents,  which  liave  gi- 
ven so  many  awful  warnings  to  the 
commissioners. 

Though  ail  the  desired  results  of 
so  fine  a,  building  towards  esta- 
blishing the  architectural  reputa- 
tion of  the  country,  cannot  be  ex- 


pected, from  its  crowded  situation^ 
yet  its  eH'ect  from  the  entrance  of 
the  metropolis  over  London  bridge 
is  very  striking;  and  foreigners, 
who  visit  the  port  of  London,  on 
viewing  it,  must  speak  with  respect 
of  our  architectural  talent,  and  of 
the  magnificence  of  this  national 
edifice. 


)^irrbit 


Having  received  Cornelia's  per- 
mission to  make  such  use  of  the 
communications  I  mentioned  in  my 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  VII. 

Fi'lices  ter,  et  ainpl:u^, 

Quos  iri'upta  tenet  cojuilu;   nee  mnlis 
Divulsus  querimoniis, 

Siipi emu  citiiis  solvet  amor  die.— —HoR.  lib.  i.  nd.  13. 

Tims  loppy  tliey  in  pure  deliglits 
>\  linn)  love  with  equal  boiitJs  unites^ 
Unbroken  by  complaints  or  strife, 
E'tn  to  the  latest  hours  of  life. 


porting  any  notion  that  may  have 
a  tendency  to  diminish  the  influence 
of  th-e   iirst  of  duties,  that   which 


last  paper,  as  may  suit  my  purpose,  |l  we  owe  to  our  parents,  I  am  con- 
I  proceed  to  give  an  extract,  which  I  vinccd,  the  tnore  the  mind  is  cul- 


will,  I  flatter  myself,  be  considered 
as  containing  very  useful  instruc- 
tions to  such  of  my  female  readers 
as  may  be  in  the  situation  to  which 
they  appear  very  forcibly  to  apply. 
TO  THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 
M ado  in, 

Innumerable  arc  the  evils 
which  result  from  that  want  of  for- 
titude and  strength  of  mind,  which 
the  generality  of  the  female  sex 
appear  more  disposed  to  enervate 
and  destroy,  than  to  cherish  and 


tivated  and  improved,  the  more 
susceptible  it  will  become  of  all  its 
obligations,  and  especially  of  this 
most  sacred  of  thein.  A  child  is 
certainly  most  undutiful,  when  she 
rashlv  and  precipitately  forms  a 
connection  with  any  one  of  the 
other  sex  which  has  not  received 
the  sanction  of  parental  approba- 
tion ;  and  it  may  be  suspected, 
without  any  prejudging  severity, 
that  she  w  ho  has  failed  in  her  duty 
as  a  daughter,  may  not  prove  al- 


cultivate.     A  rational  being  ought    to2;cther  amiable  in  the  discharge 


surely  to  be  capable  of  thinking, 
judging,  and  acting  for  herself: 
she  ought  to  understand  the  full 
force  and  circuoiference  of  her  du- 
ties; and  knowing  them,  to  prefer 


of  her  duties  as  a  wife.  Romantic 
ideas,  and  the  al)sence  of  due  re- 
flection which  they  generally  pro- 
duce, are  as^  apt  to  mislead  the 
young,  as  too  great  an  attention  to 


to  every  other  consideration,  the'  interest  is  to  govern  the  old. 
dictates,  of  reasoi>  and  the  sugges- I       After   representing    the   misery 
lioni  pf  cousjqeuGe*    Ear  from  sup-     and,  it  may  surely  be  added,  the 


52 


THE   FEMALE   T:ATTLF.R. 


wickedness  ot  a  young  woman  ac- 
companying a  man  to  tbe  altar  who 
does  not  possess  her  affections,  that 
I  may  not  add  to  the  illusions  of 
sentiment,  it  becomes  me  to  ob- 
serve the  folly  of  a  romantic  at- 
tachment which  too  many  misses 
profess  to  feel  for  their  future  hus- 
bands. Esteem,  founded  on  the 
knowledge  of  a  man's  character 
and  qualifications,  and  gratitude 
for  his  decided  preference,  will  be 
sufficient  to  ensure  happiness,  as 
;jsuch  principles  will  promote  the 
performance  of  every  requisite  du- 
ty uith  alacrit)'  and  pleasure.  Such 
a  rational  affection  must  ever  be 
n)ore  consistent,  because  it  will  be 
more  permanent,  than  a  violent 
passion,  which,  while  it  promises 
so  much  delight,  affords  so  little, 
x)r,  at  most,  so  short  a  continuance 
of  it.  At  the  same  time,  to  suffer 
pecuniary  advantages  to  dazzle 
Tvith  their  failacious  glare,  is  to  vio-^ 
laie  every  generous  feeling  of  the 
heart:  for  what  motive  can; be  so 
base  and  so  abject,  as  to  sacrifice 
the  purest  of  our  affections,  and 
to  yield  up  the  n^ost  delicious  pro- 
spect of  life  and  happiness,  to  the 
demon  of  wealth  ^ 

External  circumstances  also  have 
their  allurements;  the  charms  of 
wit  and  the  fascination  of  manners, 
will  sometimes  turn  the  attention 
from  more  solid  qualities:  this  de- 
ception is  a  t;ame  which  is  every 
day  playing  in  the  world,  and  too 
often  succeeds;  but  they  who  trust 
totheir  imagination,  instead  of  their 
reason,  will  never  fail  to  be  losers 
in  it.  Good  sense  and  right  prin- 
ciples in  a  husband  will  form  the 
best  security  of  the  real  happiness 
of  matrimonial  life.  Virtue,  piety, 
and  benevolence,  are  the  firmest 


:  bonds  for  lasliiig  attachment.  VVkh 
I  these,  though  the  charms  of  ilie 
person  may  fade,  though  sickness 
and  age  may  diminish  and  in  time 
destroy  the  exteriors  of  loveliness 
and  grace,  affection  will  continue 
warm  and  faithful,  till  the  heart  that 
feels  it  beats  no  more.  Romantic, 
novel-reading  j'onng  women  may, 
unfortunately  for  themselves,  think 
otherwise ;  but  the  truth  is,  and  a 
woful  experience  may  bring  it 
home  to  their  conviction  when  it  is 
too  late,  that  the  man  who  makes 
a  sacrifice  of  duty  and  prudence, 
and  consequently  reason,  to  what 
he  terms  a  violent  and  irresistible 
attachment,  gives  but  a  transient 
promise  of  that  solid  and  perma- 
nent regard,  without  which  'Hy- 
men's torch  emits  but  a  glaring 
light  to  decorate  a  ceremony,  and 
then  is  extinguished.   ;  i,^l;i>iit>f^<j: 

But  to  come  to  the  iB^ire 'parti- 
cular object  pf  this  paper,  and 
which  the  narrative  that  follows  is 
intended  to  illustrate.  It  is  among 
the  nearest  and  dearest  interests 
of  female  life,  to  cultivate  right 
notions  as  to  the  proportionate  si- 
tuations qf  those  who  accompany 
each  other  to  the  altar.  Unequal 
ma^ch'Cs  seldom  are  found  to  an- 
§\yeri»  ifl  t^ojnt  of  happiness,  to  the 
expectations  which  a  soi'did  inter- 
est holds  forth  as  the  probable  re- 
sult of  them  ;  for  it  is  too  often 
found,  in  examining  the  result  of 
marriages  where  beauty,  personal 
accomplishments, and  the  extrava- 
gant passion  of  the  lover,  have 
produced  such  an  union  as  is  here 
understood,  that  the  want  of  do- 
mestic union  is  not  compensated 
by  the  luxuries  of  fortune  and  the 
splendour  of  station.  The  follow- 
ing  story,  that  is  unhappily  foond- 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


33 


ed  ii)  fact,  luo  Uuly  tNemplifiPs 
the  vvretcliedness  which  often  re- 
snhsfrom  matrinionial  connections, 
foruietl  without  a  due  degree  of 
preconsiderate  attcniion  to  pro- 
})ortioiuitc  situation  or  fortune,  anil 
without  well  weighing  the  possibi- 
liiy,  or  rather  the  probid)ility,  of 
hen)g  elevated  to  the  coronet  of  a 
liushai^-d,  and  at  the  same  time 
feeling  that  these  unexpected  ho- 
nours add  nothing  to  th.e  solid  hap- 
piness of  life — that,  in  the  language 
of  our  great  poet,  "  she  may  be  no 
countess  in  her  heart." 

Caroline  possessed   the 

advaiuages  that  are  derived  from 
great  beauty  and  solid  understand- 
ing. Her  parents,  though  in  a  si- 
tuation of  life  that  tlid  not  arise 
nuicli  above  mediocrity,  were  vir- 
tuous and  noble-minded;  and, 
persuaded  thataccomplisments  and 
a  cultivated  mind  were  preferal)le 
to  whatever  mere  fortune  can  ofl'er, 
they  made  the  utmost  sacrifices 
their  property  would  allow  lor  their 
daughter's  education.  They,  how- 
ever, were  amply  answered  by  her 
acquirements,  which  decorating  as 
they  did  the  charms  of  her  person, 
she  attracted  general  admiration; 
while  the  superior  sweetness  of  her 
character,  ajid  the  predominating 

iroodness  of  her  heart,  secured  to 

-I 
her  the  warmest  re<iard  of  all  who 

•  '\ 

had  the  opportunity  ol  becoming 

acquainted  with  them.  || 

Kdwaru  (for  l)y  that  name  I  must 

be  contented   to   distinguish    him) 

was  the  only  son  of  a  rich  and  noble 

family,  ami  liaving  by  cliance  seen 

the  young  ladv  alreadv  described, 

was  so  much  struck  by  the  charms 

of   her  ])ers()n,  as   to   make  those 

inquiries    concerning    her,    which 

induced  him  to  forin  an  acquaint-  ' 

I'ol.  IL  Ao.  f  II. 


ance  with  her  father.  This  brought 
on  tliose  frieiullv  communications, 
which  induced  so  warm  an  attach- 
ment on  his  rart,  that  he  made  the 
lather  of  the  amiable  Caroline  the 
most  honourable  proposals  for  his 
daughter ;  but  thatdisinterested  and 
respectable  gentleman,  who  dis- 
dained to  take  advantage  of  what 
he  conceived  to  be  the  mere  infa- 
tuation of  an  unreflecting  passion, 
replied  in  terms  which  left  Edward 
without  the  most  distant  hope  of 
obtaining  his  consent.  "  If  you 
were  at  liberty  to  dispose  of  your- 
self," he  said,  "  I  might  accede  to 
your  wishes  ;  hut  you  have  a  father, 
whose  consent  is  as  necessary  to 
such  an  union  as  mine;  and  you 
must  be  sensible  that  he  will  never 
be  brought  to  consent  to  such  an 
unequal  alliance,  and  so  opposite 
to  all  the  plans  he  has  formed  for 
your  future  establishment."  This 
refusal  overwhelmed  the  young 
nobleman  with  grief  and  disap- 
pointment. It  happened,  howevejr, 
that  the  death  of  his  father,  very 
shortly  iifter,  allowed  him  the  li- 
berty of  openly  avowing  his  choice, 
and  revived  all  his  former  hopes. 
He  accordingly  renewed  his  appli- 
cation, am!  the  lather  referred  the 
proposal  to  tlie  will  of  his  ilaugh- 
tcr;  and  when  it  was  made  to  her, 
she  repiieil  to  the  following  effect : 
-^'*  Your  high  r.ink,  mv  lord,  your 
great  tiossessions  aiul  acknowlcired 
merit,  give  you  a  claim  to  the  most 
brilliant  alliance;  and,  as  I  under- 
stand your  family  has  qever  been 
sullied  by  what  your  friends,  and 
most  probably  the  world  at  large, 
would  thinlv  a  degrading  connec- 
tion, would  not  a  marriage  with  me 
be  considered  as  a  derogation  of 
your  name'  If,  uidoed,  the  virtue:* 
F 


34 


T.  THE   FEMALE   TATTLER. 


of  my  parents  could  compensate 
for  rank  and  riches,  you  would  not 
have  to  blush  for  my  birth.  I  could 
contrive,     indeed,     to    make    out 
something  of  a  remote  genealogy, 
but  I  scorn  to  employ  the  shadow 
of   misrepresentation ;    and    I   see 
but   one   way   of    proving   myself 
sensible  of  the  honour  you  do  me, 
and    the   regard    which    you    have 
condescended  to  manifest  towards 
uie,  which  is  by  refusing  your  haiid, 
and  thereby  preventing  you  from 
doing  an  act,  which,  in  the  eye  of 
the  world,  to  which  you  owe  much, 
and  the  opinion  of  your  famil}-  and 
proud  connections,   to  which  you 
owe  more,  must  produce  that  dis- 
approbation, and  perhaps  discord, 
whose  eft'ects  I  cannot  but  foresee, 
and  must  create  severe  mortifica- 
tion to  you,  and  consequent  misery 
to  us  both.     At  the  same  time  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  acknowledge,  that  I 
am  so  sensible  of  your  virtues,  as  j 
to  lament  that  inequality  of  condi- 
tion that  separates  us  ;  but  so  it  is, 
and    generous   as   your    proposals 
are,  my  determination  is  to  refuse 
them.     Thus  I  prove,  at  least,  that 
my    generosity  is   equal  to    your 
own." 

These  sentiments,  instead  of 
checking  the  noble  lover's  pur- 
suit, gave  it  additional  ardour  ;  he 
persevered,  and  she  at  length  re- 
lented. "  But,"  said  she,  "  the 
day  may  come,  perhaps,  when  you 
will  reproach  my  too  ready  com- 
pliance: weigh  well,  therefore,  the 
nature  of  an  engagement,  that  in  a 
few  days  may  be  rendered  indisso- 
luble, and  which  may  be  succeeded 
by  years  of  unavailing  repentance; 
but  if  you  are  resolved  to  iionour 
pie  with  your  name,  remember,  at 
]east— yes,    I    charge   von    to    re- 


member, that  my  consent  was  wrung 
from  me  by  your  irresistible-  eff-'' 
treaties."  -    --'s"-"'  '^'- 

They  were  married  :  \\\s  ia^tt'vAf 
deeply    resented    the   connec3ti(in,     ' 
and  ambition  succeeded  to  love  in'' 
the  breast  of  Edward  ;  so  that, '18 
gratify  his  subsequent  emotions,  to 
sooth  the  irritation  of  his  friends,^ 
and  to  make  amends  for  what  lie" 
now   considered   as  the    effect    of 
early   folly   and   an    inconsiderate 
passion,  he  determined  on  a  sep'd*-^ 
ration.     She    had    already    borne 
much  with  superior  patience,  but 
this  affliction  she  could  not  sup- 
port: her  fortitude  entirely  forsook 
her ;    her  health  was  Undermined 
by  grief,  and  at  length  the  physi- 
cian thought  it  his  duty  to  te'll  her, 
that  her  time  in  this  world  w6uld 
be  of  short  duration.    This  intelli- 
gence rather  consoled  than  alarm- 
ed her.     She  desired,  however,  to 
see  her  lord,  and,  on  his  seating 
himself  by  the  side  of  her  bed,  she 
thus  addressed  him  : — 

"  I  have  but  a  few  words  to  ut- 
ter, and  they  will  be  my  last.  Your 
happiness  has  ever  been  my  first 
object,  since,  by  your  fond  'tHA 
most  earnest  entreaties,  I  wasunit- 
ed  to  30U.  This  you  well  know; 
but,  notwithstanding  the  ardour 
and  purity  of  my  attachment  to 
you,  a  determination  has  arisen  in 
your  mind  to  break  the  solemn 
engagement  you  made  with  me  at 
the  altar,  and  from  which  death 
will  soon  release  you.  Life  was 
only  valuable  to  me,  becausie  1 
thought  it  essential  to  your  Irappi- 
ness;  but  as  it  has  for  sortie  tittie 
appeared  to  be  considered  by  you 
as  a  source  of  misery,  I  bless  Hea- 
ven that  it  is  about  to  deprive  irie 
of  it.     As  it  is  no  longer  dea^  to 


A//'"£  r//f//^-//  /,'j  /'///.  t' 


///■///  7 '  Jfr\  ■/'/  ■ ,  C  ////I 


.V 


jd  fke  of  saxokx 


)  -v/'////'r/7'  ^ y/z./r  (,>,^:yv//y/-  ////////•/^/ 


/<'//// -y ,  /:>/// '^ri'iurj  '/r^/O,  ^//A' ^^rA-erM,/////.v  /Vf/wx/A'/r  /■/ ; //•/.,-,  //'/, .  *;'/  v//,/ 


CHARACTLR    OF    PRINCE    LEOPOLD. 


35 


)'i>u,  iC  is  become  iasupportable  to 
me;  and  that  your  happiness  ma)' 
be  restored  when  I  am  in  my  grave, 
is  tlie  last  wish  of  a  broken  heart." 
This  was  a  scene  which  seemed 
at  once  to  renew  all  his  former  af- 
fection; but  his  promises  of  future 


amendment  and  compensating  ten- 
derness were  made  in  vain,  his 
contrition  came  too  late,  and  she 
died  a  fatal  example  of  the  misery 
which  may  arise  from  a  union  which 
reason  disapproves. 

COIINELIA. 


SOiME   PARTICULARS   ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  THE   CHARAC- 

-        TER  OF  PRINCE  LEOPOLD  OF  SAXE-COBURG. 

io    JC'Oti'^^ 


:,JVt0ST  of  our  readers,  we  pre- 
sivtiiCj.  are  acquainted  with  the 
principal  events  of  the  life  of  the 
ilJtistrjous  subject  of  this  article, 
and  with  the  chief  traits  in  the  cha- 
racter of  his  highness,  IVom  the 
ample  memoir  given  in  Shoberl's 
deservedly  popular  Historical  Ac- 
count of  the.  IJouiie  of  Saxoni/,  just 
published  by  Mr.  Ackeumann.  In 
the  following  pages  we  shall,  there- 
fore, a  bstium  from  such  points  as 
have  been  treated  of  in  ihut  work, 
and  confine  ourselves  to  a  few  in- 
teresting particulars  relative  to  his 
education  and  early  habits,  ex- 
tracted from  the  manuscript  com- 
munication of  an  inielliffent  cor- 
respondent  at  Dresden,  who  has 
been  at  considerable  pains  to  col- 
lect authentic  particulars  concern- 
ing Prince  Leopold. 
-,  The  chief  merit  of  the  educa- 
tion of  this  prince  belongs  to  the 
privy-cuunsellor  Hohnhaum.  Tbis 
gentleman  was  in  1799  appointed 
teacher  to  Leopold  and  his  two 
brothers,  and  consequently  had  the 
^Cm^i^yho  was  then  between  eight 


the  means  of  strengthen ing-  his 
constitution:  he  accustomed  him 
to  gymnastic  exercises,  proceed- 
ing from  the  easiest  to  the  most  se- 
vere ;  not  a  moment  was  Iclt  un- 
employed; and  this  system  proveil 
so  successful,  that  the  prime  was 
enabled,  at  a  suljsequent  period,  to 
support,  without  difficulty,  all  the 
hardships  and  dangers  of  war. 

During  his  childhood  the  prince 
had  no  play-fellows;  his  two  bro- 
thers were  both  too  much  older 
than  iiimself,  the  one  being  his 
senior  by  seven,  and  the  other  by 
upwards  of  five  years.  It  was, 
therefore,  impossible  to  prevent 
them  from  sometimes  exercisini^ 
the  right  of  the  stronger  upon  their 
younger  brother,  when  he  mixed 
in  their  youthful  sports  ;  and  this 
treatment  was  so  far  from  accord- 
ing with  Leopold's  notions  of  riglit 
and  justice,  that  he  chose  rather  to 
seek  diversion  by  himself.  Till  he 
was  turned  of  nine  years  t»vo  squir- 
rels were  his  chief  anuisement :  lie 
not  only  regularly  fed  and  attend- 
ed to  them,  but  had  the  curiosity  to 


and.^.nine  years  old,  constantly  see  what  natural  history  had  to  say 
abcu^^  l)Lin.  Me  soon  discovered  i  concerning  his  little  favourites. 
jt|)^qjca{i(»5iity  and  good  qualities  of  i|  The  accidental  present  of  a  pair  of 
hi&papvl;  attliesame  tinie  he  could  ','  pigeons  next  led  him  to  makehiu)- 
.ijftlj^ibiiL  perceive,  that  the  prince  \\  self  acquainted  with  ihe  peculiari- 
^/vj^Sry^pfh^if  fclelicat.e.  The  tutor  I  ties  of  the  different  varieties  of 
t\ie.if^i)rej<|i reeled  his  firs<.  cares  to  '!  birds  of  that  family.     These  inno- 

F  -2 


m 


CHARACTER    OF   PRINCC    LIZOI'OI.O. 


cent  attachments  were  supplanted 
by  a  fondness  for  flowers,  which  he 
indulged  in  a  garden  that  he  rent- 
ed, and  whicli  led  him  into  the  ex- 
tensive field  of  botany.  His  pas- 
sion for  tlvis  science  was,  however, 
fer St  excited  so  early  as  in  his  fifth 
year,  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
prints  in  the  natural  history  for 
children,  published  by  the  Indus- 
trie Comptoir  at  Weimar,  which  has 
produced  so  niany  other  useful 
works  for  the  instruction  of  the 
'youthful  mind.  By  his  intimate 
acquaintance  with  botany,  com- 
bined with  his  noble  character  and 
pleasing  manners,  he  very  strongl}' 
recommended  himself  to  the  Em- 
press Josephine  during  his  first  vi- 
sit to  Paris.  A  connoisseur  her- 
self, and  possessing  a  collection  of 
pUmts  unrivalled  upon  the  Conti- 
nent, she  particularly  distinguished 
Prince  Leopold,  and  presented  him 
\»'ith  various  rare  articles  out  of  her 
garden.  The  love  of  what  is  grand 
and  beautiful  in  nature  next  led 
him  to  landscape-painting, in  which 
he  is  a  very  great  proficient,  and 
for  his  skill  in  this  art  he  is  indebt- 
ed to  himself  alone  ;  for  though  his 
master,  Rauschert,  was  celebrated 
in  Germany,  and  England  also,  as 
a  practical  artist,  yet  he  was  defi- 
^i^enfc  in  theoretical  knowled<^e, 
ami  died  before  the  prince  had 
luade  any  great  progress.  \Vith 
these  pleasing  pursuits  he  com- 
bined the  study  of  music,  which 
lie  learned  with  the  same  ease  and 
celerity  as  every  thing  else  to  wliich 
lie  addicted  himself. 

The  history  of  Saxony  inspired 
Prince  Leopold  with  a  love  of  his- 
tory in  general  :  from  the  history 
of  his  ancestors,  which  made  a  deep 
iOjpr;t:ssioi>  ypon  his  mind,  he  pro- 


ceeded to  that  of  th.c  states  con- 
nected with  the  history  of  ihe  Sax- 
ons; and  therefore  studied  at  an 
early  period  of  life  the  history  af 
England,  and  conceived  a  decided 
predilection  for  the  constitution, 
manners,  and  literature  of  tliiscoan- 
try.  In  the  historyof  Germany  he  was 
particularly  struck  uiih  Schiller's 
History  of  tlie  Thirty  Years  War. 
The  noble  and  chivalrous  spirit  of 
the  heroes  described  in  that  woxk 
animated  his  bosom;  but  the  deeds 
of  that  champion  of  religious  and 
political  independence,  Gustavus 
Adolphus,  excited  his  highest  en- 
thusiasm. In  tlie  contemplation  of 
the  life  of  this  prince  his  lieart  and 
imagination  found  a  rich  treat,  and 
he  often  wished  to  be  in  the  place 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  that  hfe 
might  protect  the  rest  of  the  Con- 
tinent from  the  despotisoi  of  Na- 
poleon. The  young  prince  was 
often  quite  absorbed  in  these  spe- 
culations, and  when  he  fancied 
himself  contending  as  Gustavus 
Adolphus  for  the  liberties  of  Ger- 
many, he  would  sometimes  affec- 
tionately call  his  faithful  tutor 
Hohnbaum,  his  good  Oxenstierna. 
From  this  time  the  prince  began  to 
read  military  works  and  to  study 
ntatliematics,  as  necessary  for  his 
future  destination.  :  Tiiough  he  at 
first  found  some  difficulty  in  this 
science,  yd  he  soon  overcame  anil 
made  himself  complete  master  of 
it.  The  languages  he  learned  as 
he  had  occasion  for  them :  here 
again  he  was  infinitely  less  indebt- 
ed to  formal  instruction  than  to  his 
own  assiduity.  He  learned  Latin 
at  an  early  age;  in  his  native  lan- 
guage and  Erench  he  has  acquired 
extraordinary  perfection  ;  of  Rus- 
sian he  made  himself  master  so  far 


wi;i>ic.\L  It r. VIEW. 


37 


as  was  necessary  for  liiiu  as  a  Rus-  , 
sjau  general ;  Englisli   he  learned  I 
later,  hut  studied  it  with  a  diligence  || 
and  perseverance  that  soon  over-  jl 
icahie  all  the  difficulties  of  that  Ian-  | 
guage.    As  the  prince  learned  from 
early  youth  to  l)e  economiial  ot  his  j 
ttnie,  he  was  also  hahituated  to  he 
frugal  of  his  money  :   his  tutor  en-  j 
couraged   him  to  keep  an  account  -I 
of  his  receipts  and  expences;  he!! 
soon    took    upon   himself   the   ma-  || 
nagement  of  his  money,  and  kepi  t 
his  accounts  in   the  most  regular  i 
manner.     'J'hc  poor  never  failed  to 
share    his  bounty,  and  though   he 
never  c(Mitracted  debts,  he  was  far 
from  penuri(;us.  ! 

'     A  letter  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hof-  ! 
lenderji  xiated 'Coburg,    May   13, 
1816,  says:— ."From   1797  to  1811  ; 
I  was  one  of  his  tutors,  ami  for  near 
foitrtecn  years  1  gave  him  instruc-  ; 
tion  on  every  subject.     In  ttie  iirst 
year  1    taught  him  biblical  history,  \ 
Christian  niorality,  religion,  and  tl.e 
history   of    Christianity.      On   the  i 
l-2thof  St-{>:eniber,  1805,  tr.e  prince 


was  confirmed  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  Lutheran  church,  and 
partook  for  the  first  time  of  the 
Holy  Communion.  What  I  said 
on  this  occasion  before  a  numeroas 
assen)bl}',  in  my  discourse  previoirs 
to  the  confirmation,  on  the  moral 
and  religious  character  of  i\\e 
prince,  could  not  but  tend  to  his 
conunendation,  as  he  always  ma- 
nifested the  most  serious  attention 
to  my  instructions,  and  was  not 
only  ihorougliiy  acquainted  with 
the  truths  of  our  holy  religion,  but 
his  heart  was  deeply  penetrated  by 
them." 

We  could  add  the  testinionies  of 
other  instructors  of  this  amiable 
prince,  if  we  were  not  convinced, 
that  the  preceding  cliaractcr  of  him 
is  more  than  sutlicient  to  authorize 
us  to  a!uici{)ate  from  his  union  with 
the  heiress  to  the  Fintisli  throne, 
results  equally  concUicive  to  the 
welfare  of  the  nation  at  large,  and 
to  the  happiness  of  thytdistinguish- 
ed  family  of  which  he  is  become  a 
member. 


MUSICAL 

The  veleffratcd  Air^ "  Love  has  Ei/es,''^  ' 
arniii'^ed  us  a  Ro/ido  far  the  Pia- 
no-Forte, and  dedicated  to   Mrs.  , 
Biilinglo/t,  by  J.  B.  Cramer.     Pr. 
3s.  i 

In  a  preceding  nuud>er  we  no-  i 
ticed  a  work  of  Mr.  Ries's  on  a  ! 
thenie  of  Mr.  Bishop's,  and  now 
we  have  to  submit  another  air  of 
the  latter  author  as  the  foundation 
of  a  composition  by  Mr.  Cramer. 
This  adoption  on  the  part  of  such 
distinguished  masters  cannot  but 
prove  highly  flattering  to  the  ori- 
ginal autlior  of  the  th*;mes,  espe- 


IIEVIEW. 

cially  when  he  beholds  his  oft^pring" 
treated  in  a  manner  calculated  to 
elicit  new  beauties  and  enhance 
still  more  its  estimation.  This  is 
lully  the  case  with  the  present  ron- 
do. Mr.  C.  does  not  usher  in  his 
friend's  child  abruptly;  a  proper 
and  indeed  elegant  introduction 
precedes  its  appearance,  and  the 
debut  itself  i>  maile  in  holiday  suit 
of  the  first  cut  and  fashion,  with 
tasteful  trimmings  of  the  most  fan- 
ciful variety.  To  speak  plaiidy, 
the  rondo  before  us  is  in  every  re- 
spect  worthy   of  the   fame  of  its 


3^ 


MUSICAL   KEVlfiW 


author;  it  exhibits,  in  an  eminent 
degree,   that  infinite  diversity   of 
classic  ideas,  and  that  consummate 
chasteness  of  harmonic  treatment, 
wjb^h  vyill  render  Mr.  C.'s  name 
dear  to  future  musical  generations. 
No.  20.  Istriau  Jir,  for  the  Pia/to- 
Forte,  Harp,  Flute,  and  Violon- 
cello, composed,   and  hiscrihed  to 
the  Hon.  Miss  Frances  Jddington, 
by  J.  Mazzinghi.     Pr.  os. 
In    the    series   of    national    airs 
composed  and  varied  by  Mr.  M.  for 
the  four   instruments  above- nien- 
tioned,  there  is  such  a  similarity  in 
point  of  merit,  and  indeed  of  oe- 
iieral  treatment,  that  much  of  what 
we  have  had  occasion   to  notice  in 
our  account  of  preceding  numbers, 
applies  to  the  Istrian  air  before  us. 
Its  theme  is  gentle  and  chaste,  and 
the  variations    display   that   unla- 
boured ease,  which  is  the  result  of 
the  matured  talent  and  experience 
of  the  author.     Among    them   we 
wer^,  preferably  pleased  with  var. 
2.  /?.  2;  the  elegant  variation    for 
the  harp,  p.  i;  the  mellowed  flow 
of  the  demi-semiquavered  passages, 
/>.  0;  the  able  bass  evolutions,  p.  8; 
and  the  bustling  and  rich  prepara- 
tions of  the  conclusion,  p.  9.    :^  'r 
The  Harmonic  Miscellany,  a  Selec- 
':   Hon  of  popular  Rondos,   Airs,  S)-c. 
with    f  aviations  for   the  Piaiio- 
Forte,  composed  hy  the  most  fa- 
vourite Authors.    No.  II.    Pr.  2s. 
This  number  of  the   Harmonic 
Miscellany  contains  the  rondo  be- 
longing to  a  sonata  of  Mr.  Kalk- 
brenner's  composition.     It  is,  like 
many  of  that  author's  works,  ani- 
mated  and    florid;    and    although 
mainly  devised  in  a  light  style,  yet 
some  clever  modulations  and  strik- 
iug  e{fects  infuse  constant  interest 
ifllo  the  wkole.     Its  signature  is  C 


major,  hut  that  key,  we  must  own, 
is  not  often  visible;  the  second  part 
of  the  subject  setting  out  at  once 
with    three   flats,    and   accidental 
sharps  and   flats  in  abundance  be-,. 
ing  introduced   in  the  sequel;  as* 
much  as  five  at   a  time.     The  nu^- 
merous  quick  passages  are  highly, 
spirited   and  fanciful,  so  as  to  af- 
iord    excellent    practice    foj;..iitl»&> 
n^ngers.  .iciiosjRfioijr 

The  popular  original  Courtship  Dam^t 

of.  the  Russian  Feasants,  ^rrxing-ts 
.etifor  the  Piano- Forte,  zeiUi^^u/i^ 

Introduction  and  Flute  yJccompa-. 

niment,  ad  lib.  composed  hy  F^,-^j-' 


Klose.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 


'<.y«oVi 


An  andante  in  B  minor,  and  some- 
what  in  the  ancient  French  .style, 
forms  the  introductiojK  /yijej^^jp- 
gro  which  follows,  bears  the  staiwp 
of  national  authentirity,  and  its 
motivo  carries  witli  it  a.  ce-rtain?  (J 
plonih,  well  calculated  for  the  ex-- 
hibiiion  of  die  talents  of  Madauje 
Mangin  and  Mons.  Baptiste,  who 
executed  it  at  the  Kin-i's  Tlieatre. 
Bars  7  to  10  we  should  object  to, 
did  we  not  suppose  them  to  be  iji,-^; 
tegral  parts  of  the  national  theme, 
which  Mr.  K.  had  to  give  for  better 
fc»r  worse.  In  p.  5,  /.  3,  however, 
where  the}'  are  employed  to  travel 
successively  through  D  major,  D 
minor,  and  F  major,  they  Imve  led 
the  author  into  some  uncouth  har- 
monies. In  other  respects  we  ob- 
serve in  this  allegro  much  diversity 
of  interesting  ideas  and  consider-, 
able  neatness  of  arrangement:  tb^ 
flute  is  introduced  with  effect,  and 
where  it  seizes  the  melody,  th^ 
piano-forte  acts  in  proper  support. 
The  whole  is  lightsome  and  agree- 
able.    ,,j 

Falentine's  Day,  or  Henry  gtyi  jE^ 

TWflTy  a  favourite  Duety  -witi^jffjf 


MUSICAL    IIFVIEW. 


39 


'Jlccd'mpanimcnt  for   the    Piano- 
■  Forte,  composed  by  Sir  John  A. 
'J'Stievenson,  Mus.  Doc.     Pr.  2s. 
*'This  (liiet  consists  of  two  move- 
ments: an  aiidantino,  |,  in  which 


which  equally  meets  the  peculiar 
turn  of  the  text.  In  the  introduc- 
tory symphony  {b.  5),  and  in  one 
or  two  corresponding  places,  the 
bass  and  lower  notes  of  the  treble 


the  two  voices  act  alternately;  and  |  move  objectionably  in  two  succtt'-!' 
an  allegro,  ^,  for  simultaneous  ex-  |  sive  fifths. 

eciition.  Both  are  conceived  \n\TUe  celebrated  Poem,  ''Fare  tliee 
the^tasteful  style  which  distinguish-  jj  ue/l,"  zcritten  by  Loid  Ih/ron,  com- 
es most  of  Sir  John's  vocal  produc-  j'      posec/ by  J.  Whitaker.    Pr.ls.  Od. 


tions;  sprightly,  melodious, and  per- 
fectly easy,  notwithstanding  the  lit- 


This  composition  does  not  ap- 
pear to  us  to  be  sufficiently  serious 


tie  decorative  passage-work  which  !  and  [)athetic  for  the  poem  ;  and  the 
serves  to  lead  to  a  showy  conclu-     voice,  chiefly  proceeding  through 


ston. 

"  yj/i!  ubif  did  1  gather  this  delicate 
Floicer,'"  n  favourite  Ballad,  com- 
posed by  r.  Kmdin,  Esq.  as  sung 
by  Mrs.  Salmon  and  Miss    Unrt- 


dotted  crotchets,  is,  in  our  o])inion, 
too  plain  and  uniform  in  its  pro- 
gress. This  aside,  there  is  luuch 
pleasing  melody  in  the  several 
strains ;  the  ideas   are   select,  and 


Itttt,  iiith  the  greatest  applause,  oi' }  the  accompaniment,  evidently  dei-' 


the  London  and  Bath    Concerts. 

Pr.  Is.  6d. 

We  consider  this  a  promising 
specimen  of  amateur-composition. 
The  harmony,  in  some  instances, 
might  have  admitted  of  iniprove- 
metit,  and  in  the  bass  in  general  a 
less  plain  treatment  would  huve 
been  desirable;  but  the  melody  is 
pleasing,  and  one  or  two  passages 
particularly  distinguish  themselves 
by'tasteful  and  appropriate  musical 
expression.  '  "'  ^  ^ 

'''Fare  thee  Zicll,'"  zcrittmhflmtl 

'Byfon,  composed  with  an  Ji*e6m'- 

panim&nt  for  the  Piano  Porte,  by 
G.  KiaHmark.     Pr.  "2s. 
■  Ih  the  melody  of  this  composition 


vised  with  a  view  to  executive 
facility,  is  satisfactory.  In  this,  as 
well  as  some  other  musical  spec?-' 
mens  of  "Fare  thee  well,"  we  ob;-- 
serve  what  appears  to  us  a  too  close 
adherence  to  rhyitie  in  the  liue^,'^'" 

"  EVii  thoii^b  Mnford;ivinj,  77efe^r     ,        i^ 
"  'Gainst  thee  sliall  my  lieart  rebel." 

•  to 
As  the  composer  has  so  many  means' 
of  extending  or  narrowing  the  me- 
tre of  his  poetry,  it  would  not  have 
been  difficult  to  allot  the  word 
"never"  to  the  strain  appropriated 

;  t<j  the  remainder  of  the  sentence,  in- 
stead of  closing  the  first  period  with 

I  that  word,  and  thereby  creating  a 
close  where  the  sense  of  the  text 


of  "  Fai-e  thee  well"  (in  B  b),  the  !i  has  none.  Molody,  in  ouropinmn, 
several  ideas  are  less  distinguished  '  ougiit,  as  much  as  possible,  to  be 
by  noveltfybf  conception,  than  they  !  musical  declamation. 


will  be  tound' attractive  by  their 
unaffected  expression,  and  the  na- 
tural connection  with  which  they 
succeed  each  other.  A  few  minor 
bars  are  aptly  introduced  in  the 
tBrd  Verse,  ahd  a  part  in  F  follows, 


"  Fare  thee  zcell,"  Tcritten  by  the 
Risht  Hon.  Lord  Byron,  and  de- 
dicated by  permission  to  the  Coun- 
tess La  Ferte,  composed,  uith  an 
accompaniment  for  the  Piano-  Forte 
or  Harp,  by  C.  M.  Sola.     Pr.  2s. 


40 


MUSICAL    RF.VIEAV. 


Tlic  plaintive  style  of  this  melo- 
tlv  corie>poiicls  well  with  the  im- 
port of  the  words,  and  the  voice  is 
strongly  supported  by  the  instru- 
mental accompaniment  ;  but  Mr. 
Sola  in  this  instance  appears  to  us 
to  travel  too  freely  and  frequently 
from  the  key  to  its  relative  minor, 
and  vice  versa. 

"  J}i  calm,  in  soothing  Pleasure,^''  a 
favourite  Song,  as  sung  zcitli  un- 
bounded applause  by  Miss  Nash 
att/ie  Tlieiure  Ro>/al,  Drwi/-Lane, 
in  the  Opera  of  the  Maid  of  the 
Mill,  coiupoaed.  by  Nasolini ;  the 
fVords  written  and  arranged  to  the 
Musichy  Charles  Cummins,  Esq. 
Pr.  2s. 

vMthongh  we  do  not  wish  to  en- 
couraj^e  liie  practice  of  writing- 
words  to  n)usi(;,  we  are  bound  to 
own,  that,  in  this  instance,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  discover  the  appUca- 
lion  of  that  ])ractice,  so  well  do 
the  words  ajjply  to  the  tune.  The 
choice  of  the  latter,  too,  appears 
to  us  to  have  been  eminent I3'  hap- 
py. It  is  a  very  fine  and  brilliant 
composition,  v.iih  good  and  chaste 
melody,  and  supported  bj'  various 
fanciful  accompaniments  ;  all  in  the 
l)est  style  of  the  Italian  school. 
In  the  second  movement  we  are 
quite  an  fait  of  the  versification; 
but  we  cannot  butapplaud  theman- 
ner  in  which  the  comjjoser  of  the 
poetry  has  expressed  the  beautiful 
idea,  /.  3,  ;;.  4.  In  the  fifth  page 
some  bravura  bars  occur,  vvliich, 
for  the  benefit  of  moderate  vocal 
abilities,  it  would  have  been  well 
to  have  given  both  in  the  ori";inal 
and  in  a  more  homely  style,  espe- 
cially as  it  must  be  more  than  a 
common  voice  to  reach  upper  B  and 
C  sharp. 

■"  Dearest  Ellen,''''  the  favourite  Not- 
turno,  as  sung  at  the  fashionable 


Parties, uritten  hy  W.  G.  T.  Mon- 
crieff",  Esq.  and  adapted  to  the  Air 
of  the  Copenhagen  IValtz,  teithau 
Accompaniment    for    the    Piano- 
Forte,  by  J.  Addison.     Pr.  2s. 
This  is  another  specimen  of  words 
adapted  to  a  favourite  air,  and  the 
attempt  has  not  been  unsuccessful, 
although  the  peculiarity  of  the  me- 
lody   presented    some    difficuhies, 
which,   if   we   recollect    right,   we 
adverted  toon  a  previous  occasion, 
when  we  had   to  notice  the  same 
tune  with  other  words.  Mr.  A.'s  ac- 
companiments are  very  elTective  in 
point  of  harmony,  and  are  render- 
ed highly  interesting  by  the  diver- 
sity of  contrivance,  as  well  as  by 
the  active  passages  which    he  has 
judiciously  interwoven  in  their  pro- 
per places. 

A  I  olnntary  for  the  Organ,  in  a 
familiar  style,  suited  to  Church 
Service,  composed  and  selected,  by 
S.  F.  llinibault.  Organist  of  St. 
Giles  in  the  Fields.  Op.  5.  No. 
IV.     Pr.  Is.  6d. 

An  adagio,  and  a  movement  in 
the  style  of  a  march,  constitute  this 
voluntary.  Both  are  properly  put 
together,  and  respecial>Ie.  Of  the 
sacred  style  in  music  they  partake 
but  in  a  slight  degree;  and,  ex- 
cepting the  directions  for  particu- 
lar stops  and  a  few  long  notes, 
their  character  does  not  indicate  an 
absolute  necessity  of  the  organ  for 
their  execution. 

What  ho!  iVhat  ho  I  a  fourth  Ma- 
drigal for  four  Voices,  composed f 
and  inscribed  to  James  Visiter^ 
Esij.  by  \\  illiam  Beale,  Gent,  of 
his  Majesty's  Chapels  lio^'al.  Op. 
9.  Pr.  8s. 

The  words  to  tiiis  madrigal,  in 
three  sharps  and  ^  time,  are  stated 
to  be  by  Mr.  Henry  Kobinson,  and 
the  four  voices  are  a  counter-te- 


MUSICAL   riLVIEW. 


41 


nor,  firstand  second  tenor,  and  bass. 
Tliese  parts  are  set  with  great  at- 
tention to  the  text,  and  with  much 
skill    of   harmonic    contrivance. — 
Among  several  passages  which  we 
thoughtsingiiiurly  striking  and  cle- 
ver, the  part  beginning  with  "  Clo- 
ris  loves  not  tears  and  sighs,"  de- 
serves distinct  mention,  on  account 
of  the  able  imitations  successively 
allotted  to  the  three  lower  voices. 
'lite  Laif  of  the  II  aiidcrer,  rcritten  hij 
the  Right  Honourable  Lord  By- 
ron, composed,  and  respectful  1 1/  in- 
scribed to  Miss  Sandys,  by  V .  J. 
Klose.     Pr.  2s. 

As  far  as  the  four  first  lines  of 
the  text  the  song  proceeds  in  a 
regular,  tasteful,  and  well-connect- 
ed melody.  At "  It  is  not  love"  a  new 
strain  is  introduced,  the  beginning 
of  which  is  peculiarly  well  adapted 
to  the  words:  but  the  deviation 
into  the  allied  minor  is  in  itself  of 
a  common  and  antiquated  kind; 
the  interval  Fsh.  D  sh.  at  "nor  low," 
somewhat  difficult  to  seize  in  the 
situation  in  which  it  is  employed  ; 
and  the  lastsyllableof  "  ambition's" 
drags  awkwardly.  Two  bars  far- 
tlier  on  the  melody  arrives  at  a 
full  close,  whereas  there  the  period 
of  the  text  is  quite  incomplete. 
The  last  strain,  *'  And  fly  I'rom  all," 
however  interesting:  bv  reason  of 
the  accompaniment,  is  not  well 
adapted  to  conduct  to  a  proper 
termination  of  the  song  ;  and  in- 
deed the  conclusion  appears  to  us 
very  abrupt  and  sudden.  The  more 
active  acconipaniment  of  the  se- 
cond verse  has  our  entire  approba- 
tion ;  it  creates  variety  and  in- 
creased attraction. 
Practical  Inst  ructions  for  the  Piano- 
Forte,  dedicated  to  Miss  yJnnn 
IIoxccll,  far  zchom  they  were  origi- 
VoL  II.    No.  III. 


vally  composed,  by  her  Father,  1'. 
Howell.    First  part.    Pr.  lOs.Gd. 
I'he  book  before   us  forms   tlie 
lirst  part  of  a  course  of  inst  ructions 
ibr   the    piano-forte;    the   second 
part,consistingof  a  series  of  lessons 
in  all  the  major  and  minor  keys; 
and  the  third   containing  a  set  of 
preludes  in  the  same  keys.  Amoncr 
the    numerous    elementary    works 
vvhicii  have  come  under  our  iiotice, 
this  presents  some  features  of  dis- 
j  tinction  which  appear  to  us  of  de- 
cisive merit.    Besides  the  systema- 
1  tic  and   perspicuous  treatment  of 
the  first  rudiments,  we  observe  a 
]  fixed  plan  to  pervade  the  whole  of 
the    author's    labour.     When    he 
jrives  a  rule  or  definition,  he  also 
,  gives  an  example  to  elucidate  his 
text;  and  evpii  the  numerous  les- 
sons   which    form    a    considerable 
portion  of  the  work,  are  nothing 
but  progressive  examples  purpose- 
ly devised  to  illustrate  his  system. 
We  are  fully  sensible  of  the  labour 
required  in  producing  such  a  work, 
every  bar  of  which  is  the  author's 
own  composition;  and  we  as  cor- 
dially agree  with  his  opinion,  that 
these  lessons   are   infinitely  more 
useful  and  proper  than  an  olio  of 
favourite  tunes,  frecjuentl)-  strung- 
toiiether  without  sufficient  atten- 
tion  to  their  progressive  difficul- 
ties.    Here  every  lesson  has  its  de- 
fined object,  which  ol>ject,  more- 
over, is  satisfactorily  indicated  and 
explained,  and  the  learner  is  sys- 
tematically led  from  one  peculiari- 
ty of  executive  practice  to  another 
of  a  higher  degree  in  the  scale  of 
proficiency.    Another  conspicuous 
'  feature  of  these  instructions  is,  the 
j  uncommon  pains  which  are  taken 
j  to  impress  the  pupil  with  a  proper 
i  notion  of  maslcal  time.  This  grand 


^ 


vj'rit'TIT' 


MUSICAL.-  ItfiVlEW. 


object  is  ever  in  tlie  author's  view; 
and  the  lessons  tend  to  its  attain- 
ment fully  as  mnch  as  to  manual 
execution.  Having  said  tims  much 
in  approbation  of  the  author's  per- 
formance, we  shall  state  where  it 
a.ppears  to  us  still  susceptible  of 
improvement.  To  liave  set  a  large 
]jortion  of  the  first  lessons  to  one 
position  of  the  hand,  so  as  not  to 


j4  Dictionary  of  Micsici  by  J. :  Bot- 
tomley.     Pr.  Is.  -mjs 

In  tins  neat  and  handy  little  vo- 
lume, Mr.  B.  has  collected  all  that 
is  most  essential  in  musical  ternai:? 
nology  :  some  few  omissions,  bate 
occurred  to  us  on  perusal,  but  th<ty 
are  of  no  great  importance.  His 
explication  and  orthography  of  the 
Italian    terms    are    correct;    and 


require  a  shift  or  change  of  fingers,  ;|  where  he  has  occasion  to  touch  upr 


is.liighly  proper;  but  to  persevere  1 
^n„  that  position    throughout   this  I 
book,  and  thereby  to  confine  each  ' 
hand  to  the  range  of  five    notes,  [ 
appears  objectionable.     We  sup- 
pose the  second  part  supplies  this 
desideratum,   but  are   of  opinion 
that  the  first  ought  to  have  includ- 
ed all  that  is  essential  in  the  im- 
portant chapter  of  fingering,  and 
to  have  contained  the  most  mate- 
rial general  rules  for  the  changes, 
shiftings,  and  substitutions  of  the 
fingers,  and  for  the  proper  use  of 
the  thumb  in  particular.     All  this 
is  more  or  less  copiously  treated  in 
other  elementary  works  of  the  same 
bulk  and  price. 

uiuiiliary  Lessons  for  the  Piano- 
Forte,  by  T.  Howell.  Pr.  5s. 
"These  lessons,"  to  use  the  au- 
thor's own  words,  "  are  designed  to 
facilitate  the  first  efforts  of  chil- 
dren, commencing  with  enlarged 
notes,  which  are  progressively  re- 
duced to  the  usual  size."  The  au- 
thor's idea  of  enlarging  the  size  of 
the  notes  is  novel,  and  likely  to  be 
attended  with  advantage  to  infant 
pupils.  His  giant  crotchets,  as 
large  as  swan-shot,  form  a  sort  of 
musical  horn-book  ;  and  their  gra- 
dual diminution  tends  very  pro- 
perly to  accustom  the  child  by 
degrees  to  the  common  size  of 
{iiuiical  types. 


on  elementary  matter  of  ijistruc-, 
tion,  his  illustration  is  at  ong^:f^nr.. 
cise  and  perspicuous.     .  .  :^   gjij  ar 
T/ie  Tanky  or   Russian  Dance,  at" 
ranged  as  an  Overture  for  the  Pi- 
ano-Forte,   by  Augustus  Voigt, 
Pr.  2s.  ''^ 

It  seems  Mr.  V.  himself  perceiv- 
ed that  this  dance  is  not  best  suited 
for  an  overture,  for,  after  giving  it 
at  full  length  at  the  beginning,  and 
repeating  it  by  the  de  capo,  we  hear 
no  more  of  it,  directly  or  indirect- 
ly ;  but,  in  its  place,  we  have  a  va- 
riety of  ideas  which  are  much  more 
in  the  character  of  an  overture,  an4 
by  no  means  uninteresting.  Among 
those,  thedolce  part  [p.  4,  /.  1,)  vyill 
be  found  particularly  pretty.,.^, 
p.  3,  /.  5,  where  the  bass  ascend*  by 
fourths,  a  discord  occurs  in  the 
third  bar,  to  which  we  cannot  re^- 
concile  ourselves.  The  same  pas- 
sage is  much  better  treated  in  the 
fifth  page.  Upon  the  whole  there 
is  spirit  and  style  in  this  composi- 
tion; and  the  facility  with  which 
it  is  set,  renders  it  accessible  to 
any  but  absolute  beginner§^^;  ggg, 


MUSICAL  INTELLIGENCE. 
An  ingenious,  and  at  the  same 
time  very  simple,  contrivance  has 
recently  been  applied  to  the  grand 
piano- forte,  which  appears  to  us  a 
decided    and    e  sential    improve-. 


tXIilBITION    OF    THE    BRITISH    INSTITUTION. 


43 


ULt:vit. '  Instead  of  tuning  in  uni- 
son the  three  wires  belonging  to 
t^aelr'kif^y,  two  wires  only  iire  so 
tuhed-f  and  the  third  (tlironghont 
the  whole  range,  excepting  a  few 
oF'llie  upper  keys,)  is  tuned  a>i  oc- 
tave higher.  Tlie  elFert  of  this  is, 
that  the  sound  is  rendered  more 
powerful  in  general,  its  vibration 
and  consequent  length  of  duration 
are  greatly  increased,  and  the  torie 
is  thereby  rendered  more  singing. 
At  the  same  time,  the  lowest  notes 
in  the  bass,  wliich  in  general  are 


very  indistinct,  become  by  that 
means  more  defined  and  agreeable. 
What  may  to  some  appear  singu- 
lar, this  change  in  tiie  mode  of 
tuning  is  not  to  l)e  discerned  by 
the  nicest  ear,  except  by  the  pecu- 
liar general  ertects  above  noticed. 
The  inventor,  Mr.  Kirkman,  has 
taken  a  patent  for  this  description 
of  grand  piano-fortes,  the  price  of 
which,  as  may  be  supposed  from 
the  simplicity  of  the  contrivance, 
differs  little  from  that  of  the  grand 
piano-fortes  hitherto  made. 


EXHIBITION  OF  THE  BRITISH  INSTITUTION. 

"  TftE-  directors  of  this  valuable  n  critic  upon  the  Cartoons)  has  justly 
institution  have,  within  the  last  j  held  them  forth  as  great  niodt'is  of 
month,  presented  the  public  with  :  imitation,  and  as  deservedly  enti- 


an  E.XHiDrnoN  of  tjib  Italian 
AND  Spanish  Schools  of  Paint- 
ing, an  e.xhibition  that  cannot  fail 
to  improve  the  growing  (and  now 
general)  taste  of  the  public  in  the 
arts,  and  which  nnist  also  open  fresh 


tied  to  the  station  to  wliich  the 
concurrence  of  past  ages  assigned 
them. 

The  other  pictures  in  this  col- 
lection consist  of  some  of  the  best 
specimens  of  the  Italian  and  Spa- 


stores  of  information  to  the  artist  |;  nish  schools,  and  are  of  varied,  but 
himself,  and  aid  the  cultivation  and  ],  in 
developement  of  his  powers.  1'his 
collection  is  graced  by  two  of  the 
Cartoons  of  Raphael  from  his  Ma- 
jesty's gallery  —  The  Miraculous 
Draught  of  Fishes,  and  Paul  preach- 
ing at  Athens.  It  would  be  a  work 
not  only  of  alFectation,  but  supere- 
rogation, to  repeat  the  praises,  or 
revive  the  critical  disquisitions, 
which   have  been   bestowed   upon 


some   instances   of  superlative 
excellence. 

The  several  manners  of  the  Ita- 
lian schools  may  be  said  to  coiiq)re- 
hend  a  union  of  the  most  compli- 
cated and  studied  design  with  the 
most  refined  simplicitv  ;  the  most 
sterile  with  the  richest  and  most 
gorgeous  tints;  every  excellence  in- 
deed that  the  arts  demand  in  ex- 
pression, drawing,  light,  and  sha- 


these  celebrated  works.  Tiiose  who  dow,  and  all  that  can  rank  art  high 
have  raised  doubts  on  the  propri-  i  in  point  of  skill  and  intellect.  In 
ety  of  some  of  their  subortlinate  them  we  can  likewise  perceive  those 
parts,  havenot  withheld  the  tribute  I  seeds  of  corruption    which    after- 


of  thfelr  admiration  from  the  ma- 
jesty, the  expression,  ami  simple  ; 
grandeur   of  the  pri^cipif  orri^^;  j 
and  Mr.  Fuseli  (we  belicVe  tli'e  lak  ' 


wards  degraded  the  art ;  that  eager 
and  vulujjtuous  desire  for  colour, 
which  misled  numbers  in  its  pursuit, 
and  gave  to  those  who  had  less  pow- 
G  '2 


44 


EXHIBITION   OF   THE   BUITISH    INSTITUTION; 


er  than  Rubens,  a  sort  of  clums}-, 
sliewy  excellence,  a  glowing  rich- 
ness, unpardonable  wlien  bestowed 
upon  faults.     And  even  Paul  Ve- 
ronese,   witii   his  lovely   tone  and 
brilliant  et^'ect,  exemplifies  the  in- 
feriority of  tliis  meretricious  style, 
when  compared  with   the  produc- 
tions of  a  steadier  and  a  more  men- 
tal acquisition.     To  judge  of  the 
merit  of  mind    over  the  striking, 
but  transient  gratification  and  plea- 
SHire  we  receive  from  colour  alone, 
look,  for  example,  at  the  contrast 
between  the  cartoon  of   Paul  and 
the  pictures  of  Paul  Veronese  in 
the   same   room.     The   latter  are 
doubtless  rich  and   luxuriant,  but 
the  mind  is  puzzled  to  comprehend 
the   particular    subjects    they   are 
meant  to   represent:  yet,  without 
any  pretension  to  colour,  though 
possessing  it  as  far  as  the  material 
will  admit,  the  cartoon  relates  every 
circumstance  and  explains  itself  at 
the  instant  it  meets  the  spectator's 
eye,  improving  in  depth  and  gran- 
deur as  he  recedes  in  the  distance. 
The  works   of  Titian   were  the 
great  models  of  his  time.    This  art- 
ist   combined    more    excellencies 
than  any  other  painter  of  his  age. 
The  picture  in  this  collection  of 
Bacchus  and  Ariadne,  from  the  Al- 
dobrandini  Palace,  is  a  school  of 
art  itself.     Before  we  touch   (and 
we  can  only  slightly  do  so)  on  its 
merits,  we  are  anxious  to  express 
our  gratification  at  finding  the  finest 
works  in  the  British  Institution  in 
the  hands  of  families  who  rank  high 
in  our  own  commercial  and  tradiuii 
community.     As  the  commerce  of 
Venice  and  Italy  revived  the  arts 
in    Europe,    so    that   of   our   own 
country  seems  calculated   to   che- 
rish and  sustain,  them.     The   Ba- 


rings and  Hopes  are  known  alike  in 
arts  and  commerce;  and  the  pre- 
sent picture  (the  finest  perhaps  in 
the  gallery)  is  the  property  of  Mr.' 
Hamlet,  a  trader  of  higli  re]i\j'tre* 
It  bears  the  marks  of  having  been 
much  rubbed,  injured,  and  repair- 
ed ;  yet  what  a  splendid  union  of 
expression  and  colour!    The  draw- 
ing is  exquisite;  a  perfection  that 
pervades  the  most  subordinate  parts,' 
even  to  the  flowers  strewed  on  the' 
fore-ground,  and  which  are  exqui- 
sitely finished,  even  when  brought 
into  contact  with  the  best  pictures 
of  Claude.     The  face  of  Bacchus, 
defaced  as  it  certainly  is,  hasendugh 
of  soul  left  to  shew  what  the  artist 
executed.     The  young  Satyr  and 
calfs  head  are  exquisite,  and  the 
drapery  and  figures  in  shadow'can 
never  have  been  excelled. 

Bacchanalian  Dance,  by  N.  Pous- 
sin,  which  is  also  the  property  of 
Mr.  Hamlet,  is  remarkable  for  the 
correctness  of  its  drawing  and  the 
purity  of  its  execution. 

Besides  the  former  work  of  Ti- 
tian, there  are  several  others  enti- 
tled to  notice,  particularly  Christ 
Tempted,  from  the  Orleans  Collec- 
tion. The  female  arm  is  exqui- 
sitely drawn  and  coloured,  and  the 
countenance  of  the  Saviour  has  a 
truly  divine  expression.  The  Mar- 
riage of  St.  Catherine,  Titian^s 
Daufihter  with  a  Casket,  and  A  Man 
drinking  (the  transparency  of  the 
glass  in  the  last  in  particular),  are 
productions  that  are  of  themselves 
calculated  to  sustain  this  artist's 
fame,  even  though  opposed  to  his 
Tiuropa  in  this  collection,  which 
was  evidently  painted  at  the  close 
of  Titian's  century. 

The  works  of  Raphael  are  nu- 
merous and  splendid.     The  St.  Ca- 


EXHIBITION    OF    THE    UIUTISH    INSTITUTION. 


45 


therine,  from  tlie  Aldobranclini  l*a-  i 
lace,  T/ic  l^irgin  and  Child,  and  .S7. 
Joint,  from  the  Escurial,  are  the  . 
finest  examples  of  grace  aiu!  beauty 
that  probably  are  extant.  The  grace 
and  meekness  of  St.  Cathtiino  are 
wonderfully  expressed. 

Leonardo   da  Vinci's  works  are 
also  numerous  and  valual)le.     Tke 
JJctids  of  the  jJpostles  were  merely 
intended  as  sketches  for  his  larger  1 
works  ;  they  are  therefore  more  re- 
markable for  their  strength  and  ex-  ' 
pression  of  character,  than  for  any 
]>articular  beauty  of  execution.  His  ; 
Christ   dispuling   uitk   the    Doctors 
is  particularly  line,  for  the  beauty 
and   interesting  expression  of  the 
young  Saviour's   head,   contrasted 
u  ith  the  marked  and  varied  charac- 
ter of  his  auditors. 

This  collection  has  also  some 
fine  specimens  of  the  style  of  the 
Carracci,  the  founders  of  the  eclec- 
tic school,  who  devoted  themsidves 
to  the  unattainable  union  of  An- 
gelo's  design,  Raphael's  grace,  Ti- 
tian's colouring,  anil  Corregio's 
ert'ect.  It  is  netdltss  to  say,  that 
they  not  only  failed,  but  exposed 
men  of  equal  talents  with  them- 
selves, such  as  Guitlo  and  Dome- 
nichino,  who  were  their  pupils,  to 
the  bitter  reflection  of  having  wast- 
ed the  labour  of  years  in  the  fruit- 
less pursuit,  and,  in  the  words  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  "  of  having 
dissipated  their  natural  faculties 
over  the  immense  held  of  possible 
excellence." 

The  Triumph  of  Galatea,  fn'<iO, 
by  A.  Carracci,  is  an  admirable 
example  of  correct  drawing. 

The  Natiiiti/,  and  Saint  Francis, 
zcith  the  yJiigel,  by  L.  Carracci, 
contain  a  greater  union  of  powers 


than  the  former,  but  are  not  per- 
haps so  perfect  in  their  drawing. 
Landscape,  nilh  a  Prorcssion  and 
I  Sacrifice,  from  the  Aliieri  Palace, 
]  and     Landscape,     icith     IJistorical 
!  Li'^ures,  by  Claude,  are  exquisite 
,  paintings.    The  latter  is  now  more 
j  generally    preferred,    though    the 
,  former,  we  believe,  has  invariably 
j'i  borne   a   higher   price,   and    been 
I  long  considered  the  best  landscape 
in   the  kingdom.     The   clear  and 
'  finely  subdued  tints  of  the  latter, 
.  the  immeasurable  distance  in  the 
j  perspective,  and  the  pure  and  na- 
tural  tone  of  colouring  in    all  its 
j  parts,  appeared  to  us  quite  unique, 
i  Many  parts  of  the  former  appeared 
I  heavy  in  the  painting,  perhaj)s  from 

some  of  the   thinner   i)arts   beino- 

1'     .  .  ^ 

;,  wiped  off  in  the  course  of  tin)e, 

j  and  leaving  a  dark,  heavy  colour 
behind.      The    fore-ground,    too, 
j,  looks  black:  the  tree  is,  however, 
';  very  fine;  and  the  farther  temple, 
together  with  that  part  of  the  pic- 
I  tnre  which  surrounds  it,  is  lovelv, 
jj  particidarly  the   tasteful  termina- 
|i  tion  of  the  picture,  and  the  light 
,  tree  near  that  spot. 
j      The  Shepherd^s  Off'erin^,  from  the 
Crozat  Collection,  by  P.  Veronese, 
I  is  the  best  coloured  and  executed 
I  picture  by  this  anist  in  the  Exhi- 
bition :   it  is  a  fine  specimen  of  his 
silver  tone.     The  treatment  of  the 
design   does  not   correspond   witii 
•  the  merit  of  the  colouring. 
j      Landscape,  Storm,  nilh  Dido  and 
j  JEneaSy    from    the    Falconieri  Pa- 
I  lace,  by  G.  Pous>iii ;  a  very  grand 
and  poetical  landscape,  and  supe- 
rior to  the  works  of  N.  Poussin  in 
this   gallery;  althoiigh    The  Land- 
scape ai.d  Tignres  (No.  88),  by  the 
latter,    is    finelv     executed.     His 


46 


MANNERS   OF   THE   MODERN    GRF.EKS. 


Death  of  Tanned  must  likewise  be 
admired,  for  the  spirit  of  its  corn- 
position  and  the  correctness  of  its 
tirawinp^.  T/ie  Triumph  of  David 
is  also  a  good  exaiDple  of  graceful 
attitude. 

'-  Ecte  Homo  (No.  33),  by  Guido, 
is  an  exquisitely  finished  work, 
both  it)  expression,  attitude,  and 
colour:  the  folds  of  the  drapery 
are  soft  and  tasteful  ;  the  pearly 
shade  of  the  colouring  is  finely  at- 
tractive. His  St.  John  preaching 
in  the  fVilderness  is  also  a  good  pic- 
ture, but  it  has  not  the  soft  and 
pathetic  interest  of  the  former.  It 
wants  dignity,  and  belongs  more  to 
what  is  called  common  nature. 

The  Ecce  Homo  (No.  55),  is  the 
picture  of  which  a  curious  story  is 
related,  demonstrating  rather  the 
mechanical  execution  of  Guido 
than  his  Christian  virtues.  It  was 
finished  in  two  hours,  to  shew  a 
travelling  cardinal  the  facility  with 
which  the  artist  worked.  The  pious 
traveller  exclaimed,  how  thankful 
the  painter  ought  to  be  to  God  for 
endowing  him  with  such  rapid 
powers ;  to  which  the  other  replied, 
that  he  would  have  owed  little  to 
Providence  on  this  head,  had  he 
not  himself  for  years  of  early  life 
worked  sixteen  hours  a  day.  The 
cardinal  hastened  from  the  painter, 
and  left  him  his  picture. 

Saivator  Rosa's  landscapes  par- 
take   of  that   wild    and    romantic 


style,  in  which  he  delighted  to  re- 
present the  works  of  Nature.  There* 
is  great  grandeur  in  his  mode  of 
arranging  the  large  masses  of  lighc 
and  shade  which  his  pictures  cod^ 
tain.  '     1  >i2 

A  small  laho/e-length  Portrait  *i 
Armour,  by  Giorgione,  is  a  beauti- 
ful picture:  the  subdued  tone  of 
the  face  is  finely  calculated  to  giver 
effect  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  at^ 
mour.  :s 

Murillo's  works  are   admirable',> 
from  tlie  soft  and  mellow  tone  ofi 
their  colouring,  and  the  playful  autt 
interesting  attitudes  of  his  iiguresv^ 
His  style  of  composition  is  equally' 
simple  and  agreeable:  there  is  sucii 
an     even    distribution    ^pftalewS 
iliroughout  his  works,  that  one  can 
hardly  make  a  particular  selection 
to  exemplify  his  merits.     If  dom- 
pelled,  however,  to  this  selection, 
we  should  say,  that  his  Firkin  and 
Child,    tiith  yJngcls,    contained    a 
complete  specinien  of  his  forcible, 
and  peculiar  talent — of  that  union 
of  simple  and  tender  expression, 
and  harmonious  and  varied  colour- 
ing, for  which  he  was  more  distin- 
guished   than    any   other  Spanish 
artist. 

The  present  Exhibition  is  de^l; 
cidedl}-  the  finest  that  has  been  wit- 
nessed in  the  metropolis  since  the 
separation  of  the  Orleans  Collec- 
tion, ^a 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Consisting  of  interesting  Extracts  from  new  Popular 

Publications. 

MANNERS  OF  THE  MODERN  GREEKS. 

■Si.  From  Dr.  Clarke's  Tiatels,  part  11.  section  iii. 


.£>..% 


ll& 


We  were  conducted  to  the  house  I 
of  a  rich  Greek  merchant,  of  the  , 


name  of  Logotheti,  the  arcbon  oi\ 
iChief  of  Lebadea  j  a  subject  of  ^hel 


MANNERS   OF  THE    MODERN   GREEKS. 


47 


Grand  Signior,  since  well  known 
to  other  iLiiglisli  travellers  for  his 
lios[)it^a.iity  and  kind  offices.  His 
brotlier  Imd  been  beheaded  lor  his 
w^i^ltlj  two  years  before,  at  Con- 
stantinople. In  the  house  of  this 
gentleman  ^ve  had  an  opportunity 
of  observing;  the  <;cnnM)e  nian- 
ners  of  the  higher  cla.ss  of  n)odern 
Qrceks,  unaltered  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  any  foreign  customs,  or  by 
an  intercourse  wiili  the  actions  of 
9ti)«R countries.  They  seemed  to  us 
tpbeas  ancient  as  the  time  of  Plato, 
gtndjinmany  respectSjbarbarousand 
disgusting.  The  dinners,  and  in- 
deed all  other  meals,  are  wretched. 
Fowls  boiled  to  raijs,  but  still  tonsrh 
and  stringy,  and  killed  only  an 
hour  btifore  they  are  dressed,  con- 
stitute a -principal  dish,  all  heaped 
together  upon  a  large  coj)per  or 
pewter  salver,  placed  upon  a  low 
stool,  round  whi^-h  the  guests  sit 
upon  cushions ;  the  place  of  ho- 
nour being  on  that  side  where  the 
long  couch  of  the  dndn  extends 
along  the  whitewashed  wall.  A 
long  and  coarse  towel,  very  ill 
washed,  about, twelve  inches  wide, 
is  spread  around  the  table,  in  one 
entire  piece,  over  the  knees  of  the 
party  seated. .  Wine  is  otdy  placed 
before  strangers;  the  rest  of  the 
qompany  receive  only  a  glass  each 
of  very  bad  wine  with  the  dessej't. 
Brandy  is  handed  about  before 
sitting  down  to  table.  All  persons 
who  partake  of  the  meal  wash  their 
hands  in  the  room,  both  before  and 
after  eating.  A  girl,  with  naked 
and  dirty  feet,  enters  the  apart- 
ment, throw  ing  to  everv  one  a  nap- 
kin: she  is  followed  by  a  second 
damsel,  who  goes  to  ever-y  guest, 
and  kneeling  before  him  on  one 
knee,  presents  a  pewter  water- pot 
^ud  a  pewter  bason  covered  by  a 


grill,  upon  the  top  of  which  there  is 
a  piece  of  soap.  An  exhibition  ra- 
ther of  adisgusting  nature,  however 
cleanly,  then  takes  place:  for  having 
made  a  lather  with  the  soap,  they  fill 
their  mouths  with  this,  and  squirt  it, 
mixed  with  saliva,  into  the  bason. 
The  ladies  of  the  family  also  do  the 
same;  latheringtheir  lips  and  teeth, 
and  displaying  their  arms,  during 
the  operation  of  the  washing,  wiih 
studied  attitudes  and  a  jjreat  deal 
of  affectation,  as  if  taught  to  con- 
sider the  moments  of  ablution  as  a 
lime  when  they  may  a[)j)ear  to  great 
advantage.  Then  tlie  master  of 
the  house  takes  his  seat,  his  wife 
sitting  by  his  side,  at  a  circular 
tray;  and  stripping  his  arin^;  quite 
bare,  by  turning  back  the  sleeves 
of  his  tunic  towards  b-is  shoulders, 
he  serves  out  the  soup  and  the  meat. 
Only  one  dit.h  is  placed  on  the  ta- 
ble at  the  same  time.  \i  it  con- 
tains butc^ier's  meat  or  poultry,  he 
tears  it  into  pieces  with  his  fingers. 
During  meals,  the  meat  is  always 
torn  with  the  fingers.  Knives  and 
spoons  are  little  useil,  and  they  are 
never  changed.  When  meat  or 
fish  is  brougiit  in,  the  host  squeezes 
a  lemon  over  the  dish.  The  room 
all  this  while  is  filled  with  girls  be- 
lon<rin<i  to  the  house,  and  other 
irvenial  attendants,  all  appearing 
with  naked  feet;  also  with  a  mixed 
coni[)Hny  of  priests,  physicians,  and 
strangers  visiting  the  family.  All 
these  are  admitted  upon  the  raised 
part  of  tlie  Hoor,  or  diia/i:  below 
are  collected  meaner  dependents, 
peasants,  old  women,  and  slaves, 
who  are  allowed  to  sit  there  upon 
the  floor,  and  to  converse  together. 
A  certain  nameless  article  of  house- 
hold furniture  is  also  seen,  making 
a  conspicuous  and  revolting  ap- 
pearance, in  the  room  where  the 


48 


MANNERS  or  THE  MODERN  GREEKS. 


dinner  is  served  ;  but  in  the  houses 
of  rich  Greeivs   it  is  possible  that 
such  an   exhibition  may  be  owing 
to  the  vanity  of  possessing  goods 
of  foreign  manufacture:  the  poor- 
er class,  certainly  whether  from  a 
regard  to  decorum,  or  wanting  the 
means  of  thus  violating  it,  are  more 
cleanly.     The  dinner  being  over, 
presently  enters  the  PavJ/wSor,  or  Ho- 
mer of  his  day,  an  itinerant  song- 
ster, with  his  lyre,  which  he  rests 
upon  one  knee,  and   plays  like  a 
fiddle.     He  does   not  ask   to  come  1 
in,but  boldly  forces  his  way  through  j 
the  crowd  collected  about  the  doors ;  i 
andassuminganairof  consequence,  i 
steps  upon  the  diian,  taking  a  con-  | 
spicnous   seat   among    the    higher  I 
class    of  visitants  :    then    striking  | 
his   instrument,  and   elevatin<r   bis 
countenance  towards   the  ceiling,  | 
he  begins  a  most  dismal  recitative,  1 
accompanying  his  voice,  which  is 
only  heard  at  intervals,  with  tones  i 
not  less  dismal,  produced  by  the  ! 
scraping  of  his  three-winged  lyre. 
The  recitative  is  sometimes  extem- 
pore, and  consists  of  sayings  suited 
to  the  occasion  ;  but  in   general  it 
is  a  doleful  love-ditty,  composed 
of  a  string  of  short  sentences  ex- 
pressing amorous  lamentation,  ris- 
ing to  a  sort  of  climax,  and  then 
beginningover  again ;  beingequal- 
ly  destitute  of  melodious  cadence, 
or  of  animated    expression.     The 
'Poi^(.il(x  that  we  heard,  when  lite- 
rally   translated,  consisted  of  the 
following  verses,  or  sayings,  thus 
tagged  together: — 

•*  For  black  eyes  I  faint ! 
For  light  eyes  1  die  I 
For  blue  eyes  1  go  to  my  ^rave,  and  am  buried  V 

But  the  tone  of  the  vocal  part  re- 
sembled rather  that  of  the  howling 
of  dogs  in  the  night,  than  any 
sound  which  mitrht  be  called  mu- 


sical.    And    this   was  the  impres- 
sion made  upon  us  every  where  by 
the  national  nmbic  of  the  modern 
Greeks;  that  if  a  scale  were  form- 
ed for  comparing  it  with  the  scale 
01  music  in  other  European  nations^: 
it  would  fall  below  every  otlier,  ©js.r:'^ 
cepting  only  that  of  the  Lapland- 
ers, to  wliich,  nevertheless,  it  bears 
some   resemblance.      Tiie   ballads 
of  the  Greeks  appeared  to  us  to  be, 
generally,  love-ditties  ;  and  those 
of  the  Albanians  to  be  war-songs, 
celebrating  fierce  and  bloody  en-' 
counters,   deeds   of   plunder,    and 
desperate  achievements.     But  such 
general  remarks   are  liable  to   ex- 
ception and  to   error :  other   trar 
vellers  may  collect  exaiT)ples  of  the 
Romaic  and  Arnaout  poetry,  seem- 
ing rather  to  prove,  that  a  martial 
spirit   exists   among    the   Greeks, 
and  a  disposition  towards  gallantry 
among  the  Albanians. 

One  of  these  'Px^oj^ot  entertain- 
ed us,  during  dinner,  every  day  that 
we  remained  in  Lebadea.  When  the 
meal  is  over,  a  girl  sweeps  the  car- 
pet; and  the  guests  are  then  mar- 
shalled, with  the  utmost  attention 
to  the  laws  of  precedence,  in  re- 
gular order  upon  the  divuH  :  the 
master  and  mistress. of  the  house 
being  seated  at  the  upper  end  of 
the  couch,  and  the  rest  of  the  party 
forming  two  lines  on  each  side; 
each  person  being  stationed  ac- 
cordino-  to  !us  rank.  The  couches 
upon  the  divans  of  all  apartments 
in  the  Levant,  being  universally 
placed  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  n, 
the  manner  in  which  a  company  is 
seated  is  invariably  the  same  in 
every  house*.  It  does  not  vary, 
from  the  interior  of  the  apartments 
in   tlie   Sultan's   seraglio,  to  those 

*   Hence  may  be  understood  what  is 
meant  by    "holding   a  divan/'  as  well 


M.VNNF.riS   OF    THE    MODKRN    GREEKS. 


49 


ot  the  meatiest  subjects  in  his  do-  , 
minions  ;  the  difference  consisting  | 
only  in  the  coveiinglortheconchcs, 
and  the  decorations  of  the  iloor, 
walls,  and  windows.  After  tliis  ar- 
rangement has  taken  place,  and 
every  one  is  seated  cross -lej^jged, 
the  pe'.vter  basin  anil  ewer  are 
brought  in  again,  and  again  begins 
the  same  ceremony  of  ablution, 
with  the  sante  lathering  and  squirt- 
ing from  all  tlic  mouths  that  have 
been  fedr.  After  this,  tobacco-pipes 
are  brought  in  :  but  even  this  part 
of-  the  ceremony  is  tiot  without  its 
etiquette;  for  having  declined  to 
use  the  pipes  oft'ered  to  us,  they 
were  not  handed  to  the  persons  who 
sat  next  to  us  in  the  order  observed, 
although  the  tobacco  in  them  was 
ready  kindled,  but  taken  out  of 
the  apartment,  and  others  of  an 
inferior  qtiality  substituted  in  their 
stead,  to  be  presented  to  the  per- 
sons seated  below  tis. 

There  are  no  people  more  in- 
flated with  a  contemptible  and  vul- 
gar pride  than  the  Turks;  and  the 
Greeks,  wlio  are  the  most  servile 
imitators  of  their  superiors,  have 
borrowed  many  of  these  customs 
from  their  lords.  Costly  furs  are 
much  esteemed  by  both,  as  orna- 
ments of  male  and  female  attire; 
that  is  to  say,  if  they  be  literally 
co^tli/;  as  the  finest  fur  that  ever 
was  seen  would  lose  all  its  beauty 
in  their  eyes  if  it  should  ever  be- 
come cheap.  Their  habits  are  only 
esteemed  in  proportion  to  the  sum 
of  fnoney  they  cost;  changes  de- 
pending upon  what  is  cdWed  fasfiion 
being  unknown  among  them.     The 

as   the   orip;in   of  thnt   expression;    the 
members  of  a  council,  or  of  any  state 

.assembly,,  being  thus  seated. 

II    Vol.  11,  No.  fJL 


cap  of  tlie  infant  Logotheti  con- 
sisted of  a  mass  of  pearls,  so  strung 
as  to  cover  the  head ;  and  it  was 
fringed  with  sequins,  and  other  gold 
coin,  among  which  we  noticed  some 
of  the  latest  Christian  emperors, 
and  of  the  church.  Tlie  dress  worn 
by  his  wife  was  either  of  green 
velvet  or  of  green  satin,  laden  with 
a  coarse  and  very  heavy  gold  lace; 
the  shoulders  and  back  being  fur- 
ther set  off  with  grey  squirrel's  fur. 
There  is  yet  another  curious  in- 
stance of  their  scruj)ulous  atten- 
tion to  every  possible  distinction 
of  precedency.  The  slippers  of 
tlie  superior  guests  are  placed  upon 
the  step  of  the  divan:  those  of  the 
lower  rank,  of  the  unfortunate,  or 
dependant,  are  not  allowed  this 
honour;  they  are  left  below  the 
divan,  upon  the  lower  part  of  the 
floor  of  the  apartment,  nearer  to 
the  door. 

About  the  time  that  the  pipes 
are  brought  in,  female  visitants  ar- 
rive to  pay  their  respects  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  who,  upon 
their  coming,  rises,  and  retires  with 
the  women  present,  to  receive  her 
guests  ill  another  apartment.  On 
one  of  the  days  that  we  dined  here, 
it  being  the  day  of  a  Greek  festival, 
two  Albanians,  with  their  wives  and 
children,  came  to  visit  the  archon. 
These  peasants,  upon  entering  the 
room,  placed  each  of  them  a  sack 
of  provisions  in  one  corner  of  the 
apartment,  and  then  came  forward 
to  salute  their  landlord.  When  the 
women  advanced,  they  touched  lii:> 
hand  only,  and  then  placed  their 
own  hands  to  their  foreheads,  tnuk- 
ingthesign  of  the  cross,  as  in  Rus- 
sia: but  the  children  took,  his  hand 
and  kissed  it,  applying  afterwards 
the  back  partof  it  to  their  foreheads. 
H 


if/ 


JkXlQ 


3^9 


OKITiKS'JK 


.fn9^?»''». 


HUNTING  THE  GIRAFFE. 


Fjow  LictiTENSTtis's  Tiuvcls  ill  Soutliem  Afiirn,  vol.  il. 


Our  hunters  expected  to  find  a 
great  deal  of  the  larger  sorts  of 
ganie  in  the  country  we  were  now 
to  traverse,  and  therefore  rode  on 
before,  since  the  noise  of  our  whole 
convoy  togetlier  would  probahly 
frighte-n  them.  We  had  scarcely 
travelled  an  hour,  when  the  Hot- 
tentots called  our  attention  to  some 
ebjects  on  a  hill  not  far  off  on  the 
left  hand,  which  seemed  to  move. 
1  he  head  of  sometliing  appeared 
almost  immediately  after,  feeding 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  it 
was  concluded  it  must  be  that  of  a 
very  large  animal  :  this  was  con- 
firmed, when,  after  going  scarcely 
a  hundred  steps  farther,  two  tall 
swan-necked  giraffes  stood  almost 
directly  before  us.  Our  transports 
were  indescribable,  particularly  as 
the  creatures  themselves  did  not 
perceive  us,  and  th.erefore  gave  us 
full  time  to  examine  tliem,  and  to 
prepare  for  an  earnest  and  serious 
chace.  The  one  was  smaller,  and 
of  a  paler  colour  than  the  other, 
which  Vischer  immediately  pro- 
j)ounced  to  be  the  young  of  the 
larger.  Our  horses  were  sad- 
dled, and  our  guns  loaded  in  an 
in&tant,  when  the  chace  commen- 
ced. Since  all  the  wild  animals  of 
Africa  run  against  the  wind,  so  that 
ue  were  pretty  well  assured  which 
way  the  course  of  tliese  objects  of 
our  ardent  wishes  would  be  direct- 
ed, Vischer,  as  the  most  experi- 
enced hunter,  separated  himself 
from  us,  and,  by  a  circuit,  took  the 
animals  in  front,  that  he  might 
stop  their  wa}',  while  I  was  to  at- 
tack them  in  the  rear.  I  had  al- 
most got  witliin  shot  of  theui  when 


they  perceived  me,  and  began  to 
dy  in  the  direction  \ye  expected, 
hint  tlieir  flight  was  so  beyond  all 
idea  extraordinary,  that,  between 
laughter,  astonishment,  and  de- 
light, I  almost  forgot  my  designs 
upon  the  harmless  creelures'  lives. 
From  the  extrava.'unt  dispropor- 
tion between  the  lieight  of  the  fore 
to  that  of  the  hinder  part;?:,  and  of 
the  height  to  tlie  length  of  the  ani-, 
mal,  great  obstacles  are  prtsented 
to  its  moving  with  any  degree  of 
swiftness.  When  Le  Vaillant  as^ 
scrts  that  he  has  seen  tlie  giraffe 
trot,  he  spares  me  any  farther 
trouble  in  proving  that  this  ani- 
mal never  presented  itself  alive  be- 
fore him.  How  in  the  world  idiottld 
an  animal,  so  disproportioned  in 
height,  before  and  behind,  trot  '^ 
The  giraffe  can  only  gallop,  as  I 
can  affirm  from  my  own  experi- 
ence, having  seen  between  forty 
and  fifty  at  different  times,  botlvin 
their  slow  and  hasty  movements,  for 
they  only  step  when  they  are  feed- 
ing quietly.  But  this  gallop  is  so 
heavy  and  unwieldy,  and  seems 
performed  with  so  much  labour, 
that  in  a  distance  of  more  than  a 
hundred  paces,  comparing  the 
ground  cleared  with  the  size  of  the 
animal  and  of  the  surrounding 
objects,  it  might  almost  be  said  that 
a  man  goes  faster  on  foot.  The 
heaviness  of  the  movement  is  only 
compensated  by  the  length  of  the 
steps,  each  one  of  which  clears, 
on  a  moderate  com[)utation,  from 
twelve  to  sixteen  feet.  On  account 
of  the  size  and  weight  of  the  fore 
pans,  the  giratVe  cannot  move  for- 
wards through  the   power  of  the 


HUNTING    THE    GIRAFFE. 


51 


muscles  alone;  he  must  bend  back 
liis  long  neck,  by  which  the  centre 
of  gravity  is  thrown  somewhat 
more  behind,  so  as  to  assist  his 
march  :  then  alone  it  is  possible 
for  him  to  raise  his  fore  legs  from 
the  ground.  The  neck  is,  how- 
ever, thrown  back  without  being 
itself  bent,  it  remains  stiff  and 
erect,  and  moves  in  this  erect  form 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards 
with  the  motion  of  the  legs,  almost 
like  the  mast  of  a  shi|)  dancing 
upon  the  waves,  or,  according  U) 
the  phrase  used  by  sailors,  a  reel- 
ing ship*.  It  is  not  difHcult  to 
overtake  the  giraffe  with  a  tolera- 
bly good  horse,  especially  if  the 
ground  be  advantiigeous  and  some- 
what ou  the  rise;  for  it  will  be 
easily  comprehended,  that  it  must 
be  extremely  difficult  for  a  crea- 
ture of  such  a  structure  to  move 
upon  the  ascent. 

The  extriionhnary  motion  of  this 
animal,  the  i'atigue  he  seemed  to 
experience  in  heaving  up  his  fore 
legs,  and  the  stiff  manner  in  which 
they  came  to  the  ground,  so  rivet- 
ed my  attention,  that  mv  ardour 
in  pursuit  of  him  was,  for  a  mo- 
ment, checked,  and  recollection 
was  wholly  lost  in  observation.  1 
soon,  however,  set  mv  horse  again 
into  a  gallop,  anti  sprang  towards 
this  wondtrful  hgnrc;  v/liile  he, 
])robably  never  before  interrupted  ; 
by  a  human  being,  and  perfectly 
unsuspicious  of  our  evil  desi<>ns, 
stootl  there,  looking  with  an  eye  of  ; 

*  It  has  been  said,  that  the  iiiovement  I 
of  the  kin''lit  a'  chess  was  borrowed  tVinn 
that  of  thegirafle.  If  there  be  any  truth  | 
in  this  notion,  it  can  refer  only  to  the  ', 
sprniL^mg  over  every  thing,  not  to  its  | 
obliijue  motion,  which  is  wholly  foreign  ] 
to  that  of  tile  Lriralle.  ' 


curiosity  towards  me,  without  seem- 
ing t(j  be  aware  of  my  con)panioii. 
That  companion  had  already  ap- 
proached the  animal  in  front,  but 
unluckily  he  had  not  patience  to 
wait  a  few  moments  longer  before 
he  fired,  and,  taking  his  aim  at  too 
great  a  distance,  his  shot  failed. 
Alarmed,  the  creatures  now  ran 
with  redoubled  swiftness;  besides 
which,  a  ntiiiute  was  necessarily 
lost  in  rcloadinji  and  cockinj;  the 
gun,  in  which  they  got  the  start  of 
us  very  considerably.  Our  horses, 
though  already  out  of  breath,  were 
again  spurred  on  ;  but  we  should 
never  have  come  up  with  the  gi- 
railes,  if  they  had  not  suddenly 
turned  round,  having  probably  seen 
some  of  our  companions  who  hail 
gone  on  before,  or  had  the  idea  of 
some  other  danger,  and  come  di- 
rectly towards  us.  By  this  means 
they  were  soon  within  our  reach; 
when  Vischer,  hastily  disniounting 
from  his  horse,  tired,  and  ilie3'oung 
one  fell.  The  old  one  iiumediatoly 
renewed  her  flight  more  eagerly 
than  before,  anil  was  hit  by  my  tire, 
l)ut  not  in  a  mortal  part.  I  follow- 
ed her  still  awhile  by  the  track  of 
the  blood,  but  she  quickly  got  the 
start  of  me  very  much,  and  my 
horse  was  so  completely  wearied 
that  I  was  forced  to  give  tlie  thing 
up.  I  then  returned  to  my  com- 
panion, whom  1  found  sitting  upon 
the  neck  of  our  fallen  ])rey.  He 
called  to  me  not  to  ap[)roach  in- 
cautiousl^'jsincetlieaniujal,  though 
wounded  in  the  s|jine,  had  yet  a 
great  deal  of  strength  reuiaining, 
and  had  made  several  efforts  to 
spring  up  again,  which  he  was 
seeking  to  prevent  by  keeping  the 
neck  down.  As  our  companions 
soon  after  rejoined  us,  we  released 
II  2 


JS 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


the  poor  giraffe  from  his  confine- 
ment: this  was  no  sooner  clone, 
tlian,  though  almost  at  the  last 
gasp,  it  endeavoured,  by  a  power- 
ful spring  of  its  long  neck,  to  raise 
itself  up,  and  remained  for  some 
instants  with  its  body  half  vaised 
from  the  ground.  It  then  fell 
again  from  weakness,  but  in  falling 
the  left  horn  struck  against  a  stone, 
which  considerably  injured  the 
beauty  of  the  skull. 

As  night  was  coming  on,  we  all 
united  with  the  utmost  diligence  in 
cutting  up  our  prize,  the  skin  of 
which,  with  the  most  important 
parts  of  the  skeleton,  and  some 
pieces  for  the  kitchen,  were  car- 
ried away.  After  the  head  was  se- 
parated from  the  neck,  and  the 
whole  fore  part  was  laid  open,  we 
began  four  of  us  to  strip  the 
thighs,  when  a  last  convulsive  pal- 


pitation of  the  whole  tendon  mus- 
cles scattered  us  on  all  sides,  not 
in  a  very  gentle  manner.  Two 
Hottentots,  who  were  at  work  on 
the  hinder  hoofs,  were  struck  with 
such  force  as  to  be  thrown  to  the 
distance  of  three  or  four  paces;  and 
I  myself  received  a  blow  on  the 
head  from  the  front  hoof,  which  I 
felt  prietty  severely  for  several  day*. 
In  all  the  larger  quadrupeds,  par^- 
ticularly  the  buffalo,  I  have  ob- 
served an  extraordinary  irtitability 
in  the  muscular  fibres,  which  pro- 
bahiv  arises  principally  from  the 
vital  warmth  remaining  so  much 
longer  in  so  large  a  mass  before  it 
can  be  wholly  expended.  The 
muscles  in  the  thighs,  for  exam*- 
ple,  I  have  known  not  un frequent- 
ly tremble  at  being  touched  with 
tlie  knife,  even  an  hour  after  they 
are  separated  from  the  body. 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON    FASHIONS. 


PLATE  4. — OPERA  DRESS. 

This  dress  is  composed  of  white 
lace,  and  is  worn  over  a  rich  soft 
white  satin  slip.  The  skirt  is  trim- 
med, in  a  style  of  peculiar  ele- 
gance, with  lace  festooned  at  re- 
gular distances ;  the  festoons  are 
edged  by  a  plain  band  of  byas  sa- 
tin, and  finished  by  pearl  orna- 
ments of  a  very  novel  and  pretty 
shape.  The  body,  composed  also 
of  lace,  is  cut  byas,  and  is  richly 
ornamented  round  the  bosom  with 
pointed  lace.  Plain  long  sleeve, 
very  full,  except  towards  the  wrist, 
which  is  uearly  tight  to  the  arm, 
and  elegantly  finished  with  lace. 
The  hair,  which  is  ornamented  only 


with  a  wreath  of  French  roses,  is 
parted  in  front,  and  simply  dressed 
in  loose  curls,  which  fall  very  low 
on  each  side.  The  hind  hair  forms 
a  tuft  at  the  back  of  the  head. 
Necklace,  ear-rings,  and  bracelets 
of  pearl.  White  satin  slippers,  and 
white  kid  gloves.  A  blush-colour- 
ed French  silk  scarf  is  thrown  carer 
lessly  over  the  shoulders. 

We  are  indebted  for  this  very 
elegant  and  tasteful  dress  to  a  lady 
of  rank,  by  whom  it  has  been  just 
introduced. 

PLATE  5. — MORNING  DRESS. 

A  round  dress,  composed  of  ja-: 
conot  muslin,  finished  round  the 
bottom   of   the   skirt   by    a    deep 


JJPIEKA       ]13>K.JE 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON    FASHION   AND    DRESS. 


53 


fiouncc  of  rich  work  scolloped  at 
the  edge,  and  a  heading  to  corre- 
s|X)nd.  The  body  has  a  slight  ful- 
ness behind.  The  form  of  the 
front,  as  our  readers  will  perceive 
by  our  print,  is  extremely  novel 
and  pretty.  Plain  long  sleeve,  fi- 
nished at  the  wrist  by  a  pink  band 
and  bow.  The  cuniette  worn  with 
this  dress  is  of  the  moi)  kind,  and 
by  much  the  most  becoming  we 
have  ever  seen  :  it  is  composed  of 
Avhite  lace,  and  tastefully  orna- 
mented with  roses,  l^ink  kid  slip- 
pers, and  white  kid  gloves. 

This  dress  is  much  approved  by 
//e/les  of  taste  for  its  elegant  sim- 
])licity:  its  form  and  materials  are 
certainly  strictly  appropriate  to 
morning  costume.  It  was  invent- 
ed by  Mrs.  Gill,  of  Cork-street, 
Burlington-Gardens,  to  whom  we 
are  indebted  for  it. 


genf:ral  observations  on       :- 
fashion  and  duess. 

We  have  little  alteration  to  no- 
tice  in    the    promenade    costume 
since  our  last  nunjher.    Pelisses  are 
still  worn,  but  they  are  most  in  fa-  j 
vour  with  matrons  ;    spencers  are  |' 
the  order  of  the  day  with  youthful 
belles;  and  silk  scarfs,  over  white  - 
muslin    dresses,    are    adopted    by 
both.  We  see,  with  pleasure,  ladies 
of  distinction  give   liberal  encou- 
ragement to  Knglish  manufactures;  ' 
and  it  is  but  justice  to  own,  that  the 
])roductions  of  our  own  looms  may 
vie  with  those  of  anv  other  coun- 
try. Our  imitations  of  China  crape 
and  French  silk,  both  for  dresses 
and    scarfs,    are    now    universally  , 
adopted;  the  former  in  particular! 
are  uncommonly  good.     We  have  j 
pp  novelty  to  anuouiice  either  in 


spencers  or  pelisses  since  our  last 
number. 

Straw  and  Leghorn  hats  and 
bonnets  are  still  much  in  favour; 
they  are  trimmed  with  gauze  to 
correspond,  and  are  frequently 
worn  without  any  other  ornament 
than  a  large  bow  and  a  white  lace 
veil  thrown  over  them :  low  plumes 
of  feaihtrs,  either  white  or  straw 
colour,  are,  however,  adopted  by- 
many  elegantes;  but  Hovvers  are  not 
at  all  worn. 

Tlie  hat  most  in  favour  for  the 
dress  protnenade,  is  composed  of 
white  chip,  lined  and  edged  with 
white  satin:  it  is  a  plain  round 
shape,  w  ith  a  very  small  front,  and 
a  moderate  sizt-d  crown;  and  is  or- 
namented in  front  by  a  beautiful 
low  plume  of  white  feathers,  tipped 
with  green,  blue,  or  lilac.  White 
satin  hats  are  also  made  in  this 
form,  but  cliip  seems  to  be  consi- 
dered most  elegant. 

China  crape  scarfs,  richly  em- 

broidcrcil  in   colours  at  the  ends, 

are  miicli  worn  in  the  carriajje  cos- 
es 

lume,  as  arc  also  those  beautiful 
Freuch,  or  imitation  of  French,  net 
scarfs,  whii^-h  are  woven  of  hard 
silk,  and  are  equally  rcnmrkable 
for  their  lightness  and  the  vivid 
beauty  of  their  colours.  The  ends 
of  these  scarfs  are  usually  of  five 
colours,  beautifully  shaded;  the 
middle,  if  not  white,  which  is  con- 
sidered as  most  fashionable,  is  al- 
ways of  some  light  colour. 

Muslin  is  the  only  thing  now 
adopted  by  belles  of  taste  in  the 
morning  costume.  The  dress  that 
we  have  given  in  our  print  is  the 
highest  in  estimation  ;  but  we  have 
seen  a  half  high  dress,  composed 
of  jaconot  mu:?lin,  made  tight  to 
the  shape,  and  the  whole  of  the 


54 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


body  ornamented  with  very  narrow 
tucks   put    close    together,    ^\l^ich 

give  it  tlie  appearance  ot  being 
small-plaited.  The  long  sleeve  was 
quite  plain,  but  finished  at  the  wrisi 
by  a  narrow  triijle  6ounce;  the 
trimming  of  the  skirt  corresponds 
with  the  wrist,  and  ihe  Jic/iu  with 
which  it  is  worn,  is  trimnied  in  a 
similar  manner.  The  only  recom- 
irtendation  of  this  dress,  is  its  ex- 
treme plainntss  and  simplicity. 

AV  liite  is  also  very  much  in  fa- 
vour for  dinner  dress,  as  is  spotted 
silk,  and  a  very  beautiful  new  silk, 
a  myrtle  leaf  on  a  white  ground, 
the  leaf  much  raised.  Coloured 
bodies  are  not  much  worn,  but  white 
saiin  ones,  very  full  trimmed  with 
lace,  are  in  great  request.  Blond 
for  silk  dresses,  and  French  lace 
for  muslin  ones,  are  in  general  esti- 
matiot) :  we  observe,  however,  some 
f/Cga/ites  whose  dresses  are  trimmed 
with  festoons  of  muslin  edged  with 
narrow  lace,  and  ornamented  with 
bows  of  ribbon  on  each  festoon. 
Coloured  sarsnet  dresses  are  also 
trimmed  in  a  similar  manner  with 
gauze  to  correspond  ;  the  gauze  is 
edged  with  a  beautiful  light  silk 
trimming.  No  novelty  has  appear- 
ed in  dinner  dress  since  last  month. 

The  corset  des  Graces  mentioned 
in  a  former   number,  is   likelv  to 
continue  a  permanent  favourite  with 
ladies  who  consult  health  and  the 
beauty   of  the   shape;    the    width  I 
which  it  gives  to  the  cliest  enhances  I 
its  estimation  at  present,  because  , 
dresses  are  now  made  so  as  to  shew  i 
the  natural  shape  to  the  greatest 
advantage,  and   that  must  depend  | 
in  a  great  measure  on  the  form  of 
the  corset. 

The  T/iuriuguen  habit  lately  sub- 
mitted to  our  inspection,  will,  we 


believe,  be  found  to  inerit  the  ap- 
probation of  our  fair  readers: jwb 
understand  it  is  honoured  by  the 
patronage  of  some  fair  equestrians, 
who  are  equally  distinguished  for 
rank  and  taste.  There  is  consider- 
able novelty  in  the  style  of  the 
braiding,  wliich  is  disposed  in  front 
in  a  manner  highly  advantageous 
to  the  shape. 

Crape   and    lace  sprigged   with 
silver  and  em!)roidered  with  lama, 
net   enibroidered   with  white  silk, 
and  French  gauze  either  white  or 
coloured,  trimmed  with  the  same 
material    intermixed  with    ribbon, 
are  all  in  estimation  for  full  dress. 
{  The  evening  dress  next  in  favour  to 
!  the  one  given  in  our  print,  is  com- 
I  posed  of  white  French  gauze;  the 
j  skirt  is  trimmed  very  high  with  an 
intermixture  of  blond  and  wreaths 
I  of  rose-buds.      Plain   loose   body, 
!  confined  by  the  royal  brace,  com- 
posed of  white  or  pink  satin  trim- 
med  with   blond,  which  is  lightly 
edged  with  pink.     Short  full  gauze 
sleeve,  over  which  is  a  balf-sleeve 
formed    by    the   trimming    of    the 
brace.     The  general  effect  of  this 
dress   is   very  tasteful,   and   it  has 
more  novelty  ti»an  any  we  have  seen 
for  some  time. 

In  full  dress  the  hair  is  worn 
much  lighter  on  the  forehead  than 
last  month,  and  not  quite  so  low  at 
the  side,  but  still  parted  so  as  to 
display  the  forehead  and  eyebrows; 
the  hind  hair  is  brought  up  in  a 
tuft.  Turbans  are  very  geiierally 
worn  by  matronly  ladies  ;  and  we 
have  observed,  both  on  youthful 
and  middle-aged  fashionables,  a 
singularly  pretty  head-dress  com- 
posed of  a  French  net  silk  scarf: 
it  entirely  covers  the  head,  and  is 
so  arranged  as  to  have  on  one  side 


FKENCH    I'i-.NJALL  rAHUlOHS. 


OJ 


tlie  appearance  of  a  Ijuiich  of  beau- 
tiful riowers  ;  the  ends  are  brought 
round  to  the  left  shoulder,  and  lail 
in  the  neck.  Fearl  ornaments  are 
also  much  in  favour;  but  for  very 
young  ladies,  the  most  general  or- 
nament is  a  chaplet  composed  of 
SIX  rows  of  alternate  white  and  red 
roses  :  this  chaplet  is  placed  at  the 
back  of  the  head,  sd  as  to  have  the 
appearance  of  conlinin;;  the  tuft  of 
hair,  and  the  eHect  is  extremely 
pretty. 

:.■  We  have  noticed  in  half  dress  a 
3t  neat  simple  caj) :   it  is  a  crown  ol 


an  oval  form  ;  one  side  composed 
of  Ictiing-in  lace,  made  light  to  the 
head;  the  other  is  a  piece  of  plain 
net,  gauged  in  three  places,  and 
each  gauging  ornamented  with  a 
row  of  lace  :  it  lias  a  treble  border 
of  narrow  lace  put  on  full,  and  is 
ornamented  with  a  half  wreath  of 
fancy  flowers. 

We  have  no  alteration  to  notice 
in  jewellerv  since  our  last  number. 

Fashionable  colours  for  the  month 
coiuiiuie  tiiesame  as  the  last,  with 
the  exce[)tion  of  peach-blossotn, 
which  is  much  in  favour. 


rj-  FUrXCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 

loj  -I  ^iniu]  F.ARis.June  18.     jj  full  coiton  :  the  latter  trimming  is, 

When  I  wrote  to  yon  last,  my  j:  I  think,  mo«,t  ffishionable.  If  the 
dear  Sophia,  our  fair  fashionables  Ij  trimming  is  of  lace,  there  are  three 
had  recently  exchanged  the  heavy  .  falls  of  a  moderate  breadth,  put 
babilimeuis  of  winter  for  the  gay  j:  rather  closely  together;  and  if  em- 
attire  of  spring,  and  that  is  now  jl  broidery,  it  is  finished  by  one 
laid  aside  for  the  light  drapery  of  ,i  flouiuc  of  lace  at  the  bottom.  The 
summer.  The  chan-e  from  spring  i  skirt  is  rather  full,  and  the  fulncs* 
to  summer  costume  is,  however,  is  not  thrown  so  much  behind  as  it 
partial.  The  most  fashionalile  pro- p  was  last  month.  A  hand  of  em- 
menade  dresses  are  composed  of  j!  broidery,  or  letting-in  lace,  of 
India  muslin  ;  and  they  are  ccr-  [j  about  an  inch  in  breadth,  forms 
tuinly  becomingly  and  simply  I  the  waist,  being  sewed  between  the 
made.     ^V^aists  have  been  getting  |j  bodv  and  the   skirt :   tiie   bodv   is 


progressively  longer, and  they  have 
now  attained  a  very  becoming 
leniith:    the   backs  of  dresses  are 


made  very  low  all  round,  and  falls, 
as  much  as  usual,  ofi'the  shoulders  : 
there  is  a  puffing  of  muslin  or  lace, 


also  a  moderate  breadth,  and  we  which  goes  all  round,  and  slopes  to 
have  lengthened  our  petticoats  till  ;!  a  point  on  the  bosom,  which  is  no- 
even  prudery  must  acquit  us  of  |;  vel,  but  not,  I  think,  advantageous 
indelicacy.  So  much  for  general  i'  to  the  shape.  The  sleeve  is  per- 
observation  ;   let  me  now  proceed  :  fectly  plain;    it  is   long  and  very 


to     those    minute    particulars    of 
which  you  are  so  fond. 

The  dress  most  in  request  for 
the  j)romenade  is,  as  I  iiave  said, 
composed  of  India  muslin,  and 
trimmed  either  with  lace,  or  em- 


wide,  except  at  the  wrist,  which  is 
gauged  to  the  size  of  the  arm  in 
three  places,  each  gauging  being 
finished  by  a  row  of  very  narrow 
lace.  The  fichus  worn  with  these 
dresses  are,  in  general,  of /w/Zc,  and 


broidered    round   the    bottouj    in  :  the  rutVs,  which  are  again  reduced 


m 


FKENCH    1  EMALE    FASHIONS. 


in  size,  are  of  lace.  I  should  ob- 
serve, that  sprigged  niuslins  have 
no  embroidery  round  the  bottom, 
but  are  invariably  trimmed  with 
lace- 
Silk  scarfs,  which  are  now  always 
worn  with  white  dresses,  are  so  ge- 
nerally adopted  by  people  of  rank 
in  England,  that  I  need  not  de- 
scribe them  to  you  ;  but  I  wish  I  I 
could  give  you  a  tolerably  just  idea  1 
of  the  manner  in  whiclx  belles  of  j 
taste  here  put  them  on  :  they  are 
thrown  over  the  left  shoulder,  and 
one  end  fastened  at  the  left  side, 
while  the  other  is  carelessly  brought 
round  the  right  arm.  Nothing  can 
be  more  simple  than  this,  you  will 
say  :  the  effect,  however,  depends 
so  entirely  on  the  natural  ease  and 
grace  of  the  wearer,  that  I  would 
not  advise  any  of  your  friends,  who 
possess  less  of  either  than  yourself, 
to  adopt  it. 

Although  scarfs  are  higher  than 
any  thing  else  in  estimation  for 
the  promenade,  yet  pelisses  are 
still  considered  elegant,  if  made 
in  the  fashionable  colours  of  the 
month.  The  glaring  contrasts  which 
I  mentioned  in  my  last  have  disap- 
peared, and  the  favourite  trimming- 
is  white  satin,  which  is  disposed 
sometimes  in  light  y)ufhngs,  some- 
limes  in  pipes,  and  not  unfrequent- 
ly  so  as  to  have,  at  some  distance, 
the  appearance  of  a  wreath  of 
leaves,  but  it  is  always  of  a  very 
moderate  breadth. 

Hats  and  bonnets,  of  a  moderate 
size  and  height,  are  still  worn  of 
straw  and  Leghorn  ;  they  are  orna- 
mented less  profusely  than  usual 
with  flowers  and  ribbons.  But  the 
most  tonish  chapeaux  are  now  com- 
posed of  tulle,  or  white  satin  and 
tulle  intermixed:  where  these  cna- 


terials  are  botli  used,  the  fW/e  isset 
in  very  full,  and  the  satin  plain, 
l)ut  cut  byas.  Tliere  is  nothing  no- 
vel in  tiie  shape  of  these  hats,  but 
the  lightness  of  the  materials,  and 
the  tasteful  style  in  which  they  are 
ornamented  with  a  small  bouquet 
of  flowers  of  the  season,  render 
them  really  pretty,  independent  of 
the  magic  charm  bestowed  upon 
them  by  fashion. 

The  undress  of  a  modish  belle  is 
now  composed  entirely  of  English; 
manufacture:     plain    jaconot,    or ^ 
striped  or  corded  muslin,  has  su- 
perseded, in  a  great  measure,  Scots 
or  English  cambric.     The  form  of 
morning  dress  is  exceeding!}'  sim- 
plf,   but  far   from  becoming;  the 
skirt  is  trimmed  only  with  a  single 
pointed     flounce    of    a    moderate 
breadth :  the  chemiset  form  is  still 
adopted  for  the  body,   but  the  en- 
lire  of  the  neck  and  throat  is  enve- 
loped in  njichu  composed  of  heavy 
rows  of  work,  formed  in  the  style 
of  a  tippet,  and  frightfully  unbe- 
coming to  the  shape.   The  dress  is 
confined  to  the  waist  by  a  coloured 
sash,  tied  in  a  bow,  and  short  ends 
behiiul.     The  cornctle  worn  with  it 
is  usually  composed  of  worked  mus- 
lin :  I  cannot  better  describe  it  than 
by  telling  you,  to  fancy  a  mode- 
rate-sized oval  crown  placed  upon 
a  mob  cap;  the  upper  part  of  it  is 
drawn  round  by  four  rows  of  rib- 
bon, and  each  drawing  finished  at 
the  side  by  a  bow  ;  a  large  cockade 
of   ribbon    and    net   mixed    orna- 
ments it  in  front;  a  thick  quilling 
of  net  goes  round  the  face,  and  the 
ends  are  fastened  under  the  chin 
by   a   large  bow  of  ribbon.     This 
cap  can  be  becoming  only  to  ladies 
who  add  softness  of  countenance 
to  regularity  of  features:  it  is,  how- 


FRENCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS. 


57 


ever,  generally  adopted  by  the  Pa- 
risian elegantes. 

For  dijiner  dress,  India  muslin 
and  white  spotted  silk  are  l)oth 
high  in  estimation,  the  former  es- 
pecially :  coloured  sarsnets  are  not 
at  all  worn.  Lace,  or  narrow  hands 
of  byas  satin,  are  still  the  favourite 
trimmings ;  three  or  four  of  the 
latter  are  placed  at  about  two  inch- 
es distance  from  each  other,  or 
if  the  dress  is  trimmed  with  lace, 
there  are  three  falls  put  closely  to- 
f^ether.  The  bodies  of  dinner 
dresses  begin  to  be  made  very  low; 
the  fronts  are  mostly  cut  in  the 
form  of  a  corset.     The  bosom  is 


of  ribbon,  and  a  liitle  to  the  side  is 
placed  a  sprig  of  lilies,  roses,  or 
any  of  ihe  other  flowers  of  the  sea- 
son, which  is  tied  by  a  bow  of  rib- 
bon to  correspond  with  that  plaited 
round  the  l)osom.  These  corncttes 
arc  not,  however,  always  composed 
of  gauze;  some  ladies  wear  them 
in  lace,  and  some  in  muslin,  but 
the  latter  material  is  not  much  in 
request. 

I  have  little  information  to  give 
you  with  respect  to  full  dress:  we 
still  continue  to  wear  white  gauze 
or  white  lace  over  satin ;  blond  is 
the  present  favourite  trimming  for 
petticoats:    the  robes   are   always 


trimmed  with  a  quilling  of  lace  or  i  made  just  short  enough  to  display 


tulle.  The  sleeve,  if  short,  is  ex- 
tremely full  ;  it  is  confined  to  the 
arm  by  a  band  of  the  same  material 
as  the  dress:  some  few  elegantes 
gather  the  fulness  in  different  parts 
of  the  front  of  the  arm,  and  orna- 
ment each  with  a  small  bow  of 
ribbon.  Long  sleeves  are,  how- 
ever, still  more  general  for  dinner 


the  trimming  of  the  petticoat.  The 
favourite  evening  dress,  at  present, 
is  trimmed  up  the  middle  of  the 
front,  round  the  bottom,  bosom, 
and  sleeves,  with  three  rows  of 
narrow  white  ribbon  spotted  with 
silver  :  the  effect  of  this  trimming 
is  formal  and  tasteless;  but  we 
hope,  by  and  by,  to  profit  by  the 


dress  than  short  ones,  but  they  are     elegant   taste  of  the  Duchess  of 


made  invariably  plain. 


Berry,  who  is  likely  to  be  looked 


Cornettes  are  much  worn  in  din-  ||  up  to  as  the  model  of  fashion  by 
ner  dress;  and  although  I  can  jj  this  court,  as  the  ladies  hope  to 
never  be  thoroughly  reconciled  to  i]  find  in  her  that  love  of  dress,  gaie- 


the  superstructure  of  these  gene- 
rally fantastic,  and  often  unbecom- 
ing, head-dresses,  yet  I  must  own, 
that  I  consider  the  present  fashion 
more  simple,  and  more  appropri- 
ate to  the  season,  than  any  adopt- 
ed since  I  have  resided  in  Paris. 
They  are  much  worn  in  gauze,  and, 
in  general,  the  crown,  which  is 
oval,  and  not  very  high,  is  very 
full,  but  the  fulness  is  confined  to 
the  size  of  the  head  by  bands  of 
byas  satin  ;  to  each  banil  is  affixed 
a  puffing  of  gauze:  the  front  is 
generally  trimmed  with  a  plaitinc; 
F<jl.  II.  No.  II I. 


ty, and  amusement,  so  congenial  to 
the  French  character,  and  in  which 
Madame  is  so  entirely  deficient. 

Hats,    composed    of  white   soft 

satin,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in 

front,  or  a  plume  of  feathers,  are 

very  generally  worn  in  lull  dress, 

Tocques  are  still  much  in  favour; 

and  flowers,  mingled  with  precious 

i  stones,  are  in  very  high  estimation. 

I  The  hind  hair   is  brought  round 

I  to  the  front,  and  forms  three  rows 

j  on   the  top  of  the  head,   each  of 

I  which   is  fastened    by   a  jewelled 

I  comb.     The  front  hair  falls  over 

I 


5B 


INTELLIGENCE,    LITIiJlAUY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


the  forehead  in  soft  loose  cuils, 
through  which  is  partially  seen  a 
wreath  of  roses ;  white  ones  are 
considered  most  fa^iinonahle:  the 
bows  at  the  top  ot  the  head  are  ra- 
ther formal,  but  the  front  hair  is 
disposed  m  an  elegant  and  becom- 
ing manner. 

Full-dress  slippers  are  of  white 
spotted  silk,  and  very  often  spotted 
and  fringed  with  silver.  For  the 
promenade,  they  are  usually  of 
white  leather,  with  a  rosette  or 
plaiting  of  ribbon;  they  are  now 
cut  lower  than  they  used  to  be 
round  the  instep. 

Peach-blossom,  damask-rose,  all 


the  light  shades  of  green,  and  ce- 
lestial blue,  are  the  prevalent  co- 
lours at  present.  I  say  nothing  to 
you  of  jewellery,  because  no  alter- 
ation has  taken  place  since  1  wrote 
last.  And  now,  my  dear  Sophia,  if 
you  wish  that  1  snoulci  send  you  any 
more  minute  letters  on  the  dear 
delightful  subject  of  dress,  you 
must  let  me  know  what  you  are  all 
doinjj  in  Enq;land.  Your  letters 
are  very  short,  and  if  you  do  not 
become  a  better  correspondent,  3'ou 
may  expect  next  time  a  sheet  filled 
with  reproaches  instead  of  fasliions, 
from  your  aB'ectionate  an, 

EUDOCIA*W 


FASHIONABLE   FURNITURE. 

PLATES. — A  SALOON. 


The  designs  of  manv  of  ourvil- 
las,  particularly  those  erected  about 
forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  contained 
circular-topped  windows  tothecen- 
tral,  and  in  some  cases  to  all  the 
apartments  of  the  ground  floor; 
and  although  it  has  been  usual  in 
such  cases  to  consider  the  windows 
as  square-topped,  concealing  the 
spandrels  by  the  upper  draperies, 
yet  the  opportunity  of  producing 
a  variety  of  form  in  the  designs  of 
furniture  is  very  desirable.  The 
annexed  plate  therefore  represents 
draperies  suited  to  such  windows; 
the  arrangement  of  which,  from  its 
architectural  and  simple  elegance, 


is  suited  to  the  saloon,  and  the  ac' 
cessoirs  are  in  corrtsj)ondence. 

The  saloon  being  an  apartment  of 
communication,  and  through  which 
the  principal  rooms  are  approaclied, 
the  prevailing  colours  should  l)ar- 
monize  with  them,  and  yet  be  of 
such  cool  or  subdued  character  as 
will  produce  in  tlie  others  an  eflfect 
of  greater  brilliancy.  The  cur- 
tains may,  notwithstanding,  have 
that  character  of  richness  that  will 
give  importance  to  the  saloon,  and 
allow  it  to  join  with  the  superior 
apartments  in  effecting  a  general 
richness  and  splendour. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  Sic. 


The  remark  of  our  correspond- 
ent X.  Y.  Z.  on  the  sul)stitution, 
in  Nos.  III.  and  V.  of  the  words 
"  Balbec  and  Palmyra,"  instead  of 


*'  Dalmatia,"  is  most  coyect.  The 
inaccuracy  arose  from  quoting  with- 
out an  instant  reference  to  those 
works,    and  the   certainty   of   the 


A-    SAIjOOIT  . 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,   &.C. 


59 


extent  to  which  Adam  approved 
and  adopted  the  peculiar  style  of 
ornaments  hotli  of  his  own  research 
and  those  which  Wood  had  |)ub- 
lished  in  liis  Remains  of'  Halbec  and 
Paliin/ru.  The  new  and  ht'Uer  style 
of  architectural  enrichment  intro- 
duced by  Adam  recommended  him 
to  iL^cneral  notice,  and  his  invention 
of  u  stucco,  for  which  lie  obtained 
a  patent,  gave  him  a  free  use  of 
ornament  at  a  comparatively  small 
expense.  Tlie  Adelphi  is  an  ex- 
am])le  of  this,  and  many  of  his  other 
works  at)ound  with  ornaments  which 
are  the  result  of  his  study  of 
Wood's  Hemuiiis,  Ike. :  pariicular- 
ly  at  Keddleston,  uear  Derby,  the 
seat  of  Lord  Scarsdale,  they  are 
very  prominent ;  as  they  were  also 
at  Fisherwick,  near  Litchfield, 
which  building  is  now  taken  down. 
The  matter  of  the  numbers  refer- 
red to  will  in  no  way  be  alfected  by 
the  inaccuracy,  if  "Dalmatia"  be 
substituted  for  "  Palmyra  and  Bal- 
bec  :"  for  Adam  distinctly  merits 
the  approbation  that  is  there  be- 
stowed upon  him,  for  that  innova- 
tion which  has  led  to  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  present  chaste  style  of 
ornamental  design.  The  error  in 
the  name  of  "  Kevett"  is  of  the 
press. — The  interest  X,  Y.  Z.'has 
taken  in  tins  department  of  the 
arts  is  very  flattering,  as  it  is  an 
assurance,  that  men  of  talent,  taste, 
and  research,  have  a  relish  for  ar- 
chitecture, whose  sublime  beauties 
have  been  too  much  neglected,  and 
too  little  understood. 

In  the  course  of  this  month  will 
be  published,  by  Mr.  Ackermann 
of  the  Strand,  in  one  volume  im- 
perial octavo,  Se/eci  f'iacs  of  Lon- 
don; containing    70  coloured   en- 


gravings, with  historical  and  de- 
scriptive sketches  of  themost  inter- 
esting Public  Buildings. 

A  new  work  i)v  INliss  Taylor,  au- 
thor of  Display,  is  in  the  press,  and 
will  appear  in  u  few  days. 

A  translation,  from  the  original 
German, of  professor  Morgenstcrn's 
Tour,  in  1809  and  1810,  thruw^h 
Part  of  Switzerland,  Italy,  NapUs, 
&c.  with  additions,  is  in  the  press. 

Shortly  will  be  pul)lislied,  a  new 
and  interesting  novel,  by  Miss 
Parker,  entitled  Self- Deception. 

A  work  on  the  Beauties  and  De- 
jects of  the  Horse,  comparatively 
delineated  in  a  series  of  coloured 
plates,  from  the  pencil  of  Mr.  11. 
;  Aiken,  with  references  and  useful 
instruction  to  young  purchasers, 
or  to  those  who  wish  to  pursue  the 
study  of  that  noble  animal,  is  in  the 
press,  and  will  soon  make  its  a[)- 
pearance. 

A  new  work,  entitled  Albania,  or 
tlie  Separation,  will  appear  very 
shortly.  It  is  the  performance  of 
an  author  who  has  published  be- 
fore; but  the  pieces  of  poetry  scat- 
tered through  the  volume  are,  in 
general,  entirely  new,  two  only 
having  met  the  public  eye.  An 
extract  will  appear  in  our  next 
number. 

Mr.  Berry,  late  of  the  College  of 
y\rms,  and  author  of  a  History  of 
Guernsey,  has  in  the  press  a  series 
of  tables,  entitled  7'/ic  Genealo<^ical 
Mythology;  intended  as  a  book  of 
reference  for  classical  students. 
The  work  has  received  the  sanc- 
tion of  many  of  the  most  eminent 
scholars  in  the  kingdom,  to  whom 
the  MS.  has  been  submitted. 

Mr.  Thomas  Wilson  will  pub- 
lish, early  in  August,  A  complete 
I  2 


60 


POETRY. 


Sijstem  of  English   Country  Dane-  j 
ing;    also  a   Technical   Ball-Room  j 
Dictionary,  with  the  complete  Eti- 
quette of  the  Ball-Room  ;    and  a  | 
Companion  to  the  Ball-Room,  con-  I 
taining  about  250  of  the  most  cele- 
brated and   popular  Scotch,  Eng- 
lish,    and     Irish     country  -  dance 
tunes  and  waltzes. 

Mr.  William  Phillips  will  pub- 
lish, early  in  July,  a  new  edition  of 
his  Outlines  of  Mineralogy  and  Ge- 
ology, revised  and  improved.  This 
elementary  book  is  designed  chiefly 
for  the  use  of  young  persons.  To 
this  edition  will  be  added,  some  ac- 
count of  the  Geology  of  England 
and  Wales,  together  with  a  colour- 
ed map  and  section  of  the  strata; 
which  are  intended  also  to  be  pub- 
lished separately  for  the  purchasers 
of  the  first  edition. 

The  third  volume  of  The  Trans- 
actions of  the  Geological  Society,  will 
be  published  about  the  middle  of 
July.  It  will  be  illustrated  by  a 
large  number  of  highly  finished 
plates,  chiefly  coloured. 

M.  Jouy,  whose  lively  work, 
VHermite  de  la  Chaussce  d'Jntin, 
is  known  to  the  English  reader  by 


the  title  of  The  Paris  Spectator,  has 
published  the  first  volume  of  a  se- 
quel to  it,  which  he  styles  The 
Hermit  of  Guiana,  or  observations 
on  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
French  at  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  centur}-. 

The  Paris  papers  state,  that  M. 
de  Pradt  has  received  more  than 
120,000  francs  (5000/.)  for  his  three 
j  works,  on  The  Embassy  to  Warsaw^ 
The  Congress  of  Vienna,  and  The 
ffar  in  Spain.  They  add,  that 
Rousseau's  Emile  produced  the 
author  only  100  crowns. 

Mr.  J.  B.  Riddel,  of  Edinburgh, 
states,  from  experience,  that  the 
fatal  accidents  which  sometimes 
occur  from  the  fury  of  over-driven 
horned  animals,  might  easily  be 
prevented  by  tying  a  small  rope 
round  the  neck,  and  fastening  it 
immediately  below  the  knee  joint 
of  one  of  the  fore  legs.  The  length 
of  the  rope  must  be  sufficient  to 
allow  the  animal  to  move  his  |iead 
gently  up  and  down  with  the  mo- 
tion of  the  leg,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  short  as  to  prevent  him 
from  tossing  it  above  the  level  of 
the  shoulder.  '  ''  ; 


^oetrj). 


LOVE. 

Translated  from  the  Spanish. 

Mother,  with  watchful  eye  you 

My  freedom  to  restrain. 
But  know,  unless  I  guard  my-elf. 

Your  guard  will  be  but  vain. 
It  has  been  saiil,  and  Keuson's  voi 

Confirms  the  ancient  lay. 
Still  will  confinernenl'd  rigid  hand 

Enflanie  the  wish  to  slrav. 


strive 


Love,  once  oppress'd,  will  soon  increase. 

And  sirengili  superior  gain: 
'Twere  better  far,  believe  my  voice. 

To  give  my  will  the  rein: 
For  if  I  do  not  guard  myself. 

Your  guard  will  be  but  vain. 

For  lier  v\ho  will  not  guard  herself. 

No  other  guard  you'll  find ; 
Cunning  and  fear  will  weak  be  found. 

To  chain  the  active  mind. 


POETRY. 


61 


Tho'  Death  himself  should  bar  my  way, 

His  menace  I'd  ilisdain: 
Then  leurii,  thai  till  I  guard  myself, 

Youryuard  will  still  be  vain. 

The  raptur'd  heart,  which  once  has  felt 

A  sense  of  love's  deliyht. 
Flies,  like  the  moth's  impetuous  wing. 

To  find  the  taper's  light: 
A  thousand  g'lards,  a  thousand  cares. 

Will  ne'er  the  will  restrain; 
For  if  1  do  not  guard  myself. 

All  other  guards  are  vain. 

Such  is  the  all-contrniiling  force 

Of  Love's  resistless  storm. 
It  gives  to  beauty's  fairest  shape 

The  dire  chimera's  form  : 
To  wax  the  melting  breast  it  turns. 

Flame  o'er  the  cheek  is  spread, 
With  hands  of  wool  she  opes  the  door, 

Unfelt  the  footsteps  tread. 
Then  try  no  more,  wi:h  fruitless  care. 

My  wishes  to  restrain ; 
For  if  I  do  not  ^ruard  myself. 

Your  guard  will  be  but  vain. 

Somerset. 


HYMN  TO  VENUS, 

By  Eliza  S.  Francis,  author  of"  The  Ri- 
val Roses,"  "  Sir  Wilibert  de  Wavcrley," 

Oh,  2od  Jess  !  round  whose  roseate  shrine. 
At  Sappho's  call,  the  heavenly  Nine 
Their  tuneful  homage  sweetly  paid. 
Re-echoing  liirough  Idalia's  shade; 
Oh,  goddess  !  if  a  suppliant's  prayer 
Could  e'er  obtain  i!iy  guardian  care. 
Then,  bright  Cyihera,  list  to  me — 
Propitious  to  thy  votary  be  I 

Ah!  since  no  charms  of  mental  kind, 
The  race  of  man  can  solely  bind. 
Oh!   breathe  o'er  me  a  charm  divine. 
Let  all  the  Graces  round  me  shine. 
Goddess  !   I  ask  no  wide  domain, 
O'er  ONE  alone  I  wish  to  reign; 
Let  me  but  make  one  mortal  blest. 
To  nymphs  more  vain  I  yield  the  rest. 

For  HIM,  oh!   let  mv  lip  exhale 
The  fragrant  sweets  of  Iran's  gale; 
If  ne.\tly  twined  mv  temples  round, 
My  locks  ill  shining  folds  be  bound, 


Or  whether  o'er  the  bosom's  snow 
The  glossy  ringlets  careless  flow. 
Fair  queen.'  oh,  may  those  tresses  prove 
Fnthralling  chains  to  bind  my  lovel 

Mine  be  the  smile  with  rapture  bright; 
Mine  be  that  eye-beam's  kindling  light. 
Which  through  itssilken curtain  stealing. 
Half  disclosing,  half  concealing. 
With  trembling  luslre  darts  a  ray. 
Foretelling  Love's  resplendent  day, 
DitVusing  o'er  my  lover's  mind 
Delights  as  ardent  as  refined. 

These  gifts  be  mine — two  silver  doves. 
Emblems  of  pure  and  faithful  loves, 
Thine  altar,  goddess,  shall  adorn, 
Whene'er  shall  rise  my  blissful  morn: 
And  to  reward  thy  laughing  son. 
For  all  the  conquests  he  has  won, 
For  all  the  blissful  panics  I've  known. 
Since  low  I  bent  before  his  throne, 

A  bow,  of  purest  bullion  form'd, 
A  (juiver  matchlessly  adorn'd, 
A  quiver  lill'd  with  feathery  store. 
Which  he  has  wanted  long  before: 
For  seldom  sure,  his  darts  are  true. 
They  pierce  not  as  they  wont  to  do ; 
His  arrows  oft  are  blunted  found. 
And  time  can  heal  their  deepest  wound. 

Oh,  goddess  !   warm  Hilario's  breast. 
Be  my  loved  image  there  impress'd. 
So  deeply  slamp'd  within  his  heart. 
Nor  time  can  melt,  nor  absence  pari ; 
And  when  we  meet  again  at  last. 
The  weary  hours  of  absence  past. 
Inspired  bv  thee,  oh !   may  we  prove 
The  immortality  of  love! 


LOVE. 

Tho'  donm'd  to  meet  the  frowns  of  Fate, 
Tho'  not  of  Fortune's  gems  possess'd. 

Yet  love  shall  crown  our  humble  state. 
That  nobler  treasure  of  the  breast : 

Enrich'd  by  that,  our  days  shall  glide 
!  On  peaceful  pleasure's  smoothest  tide; 

Each  day  we'll  pass  to  care  unknown. 

Each  night  we'll  rest  on  virtue's  down ; 

Whilst  Wealth  amid  his  stores  shall  sigh, 

And  view  us  with  an  enviou*;  evo. 


6i 


POLTRY. 


LINES 
Trtscnbe<l  tc»  \ro'her  Marv  Hfi.EN  upon  her 

Lalf  Jiiiulee. 

Amidst  ali  the  objects  this  valley  of  tears 

Presents  to  a  rational  mind, 
A  jubilee  kept  in  religion  appears 

The  most  striking  that  reason  can  find. 

Two  far  different  worlds,  like  opposite 
scales. 
Seem  to  hang  ontrme'sshadowy  beam : 
In  one,  sense  enchanting  o'er  reason  pre- 
vails; 
Grace  reigns  in  the  other  supreme. 
Of  all  the  fond  captives  the  first  ever 
bound,  , 
In  its  stronger  than  adamant  chain, 
PJotone  ever  lived,  nor  shall  ever  be  found, 
Whocaiithinkof  pasldayswithoulpain. 
If  clouded  by  sorrow,  and  burden'd  with 
cares, 
Reflection  increases  their  load; 
For  conscience,  implacable  witness,  de- 
clares, 
All  is  lostthai's  not  sufTer'd  for  God. 

If  gilded  by  plea  ure,  and  crown'd  with 
delight, 
Fond  passion  their  loss  must  deplore. 


AP03TR0PIIE  TO   THE   PRIH- 
ROSt:. 

The  ruffian  i\Iarch  has  scarcely  blown 
his  last, 

Ere  thou,  on  lender  stem  all  white  vvjth 
dew. 

Thy  lightly  tinged  bosom  spreadstto  catch 

The  milder  ray,  and  drink  the  fosl'ring 
show'r 

That  April  brings.     Not  thine  the  gor- 
geous dye 

Of  tulip  01  of  rose  ;  but  still  thy  form, 

Of  paler  hue,  wiih  all  the  beauteous  show 

That  heav'n  and  earth  display  in  this 
thy  season. 

Delights  the  eye,  till   now  accustomed 
long 

To  snows,  and  mists,  and  rains,  all  com- 
fortless and  drear. 

Secure  beneath  some  shaggy  hedge  thou 
grovv'st. 

Lest  that  too  rude  a  gale  thy  form  should 
tear. 

Or  drenching  show'rs  oppress  thy  bosom 
soft. 

When  once  I  wander'd  o'er  the  level 
green, 

I  spied  thy  simple  shape  bend  o'er  its  root. 


What  anguish  does  not  the  remembrance  ||  And  thusinwhisp'nng  accents  to  myself 


excite. 

That  the  object  of  htve  is  no  more ! 
jN'ot  so  in  the  world  where  grace  conse- 
crates 
Ev'ry  moment  that  Heaven  supplies; 
The  thought  of  past  pain,  peace  and  joy 
but  creates. 
And  plea"^ure  once  felt,  never  dies. 

By    Providence    led   to   the    frontier  of 
heaven. 
When  Innocence  smiled  upon  Youth, 
Each  moment  of  twenty-five  years  you 
have  given 
To  virtue  and  practical  truth. 
What  a  rapt'rous  thought  I  what  a  retro- 
spect this! 
Yet  how  mean    to  the  scenes  which 
extend 
Thro'  eternity's  flight,  in  that  wide  wpfid 
of  bliss. 
Where  your  jubilee  never  shall  end ! 
Somerset. 


"Tliank  Heav'n,    the  frozen    blast   and 

cheerless  scenes 
Of  winter  now  are  past;  and  that  the  Spring 
Comes  tripping  on,  I  know,  for  of  her  race. 
All-beauteous  andof  various  hues,  behold 
The  first-born  here !     O  bounteous  sun  ! 

do  thou. 
From  day  to  day,  increase  thy  glorious 

heat ; 
And  come,  thou  daughter  of  this  vernal 

lime. 
No  unapt  emblem  of  the  spotless  maid. 
When  in  the  morning  of  her  life  s^e 

looks 
All  innocence  and  ease — come,  thou  my 

cell 
Shajt  deck,  and  there  when  thee  I  turn  to 

view. 
Blest  Ileav'n  I'll  thank,  and  call  thee 

messenger  of  Spring." 

R.  B. 

April  26,  18t6o 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


•         «        o 


1?        9 


^^^^. 


.ryrj:tr:rx'r 


Tur: 


3^epo!5itorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  ^c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


August  1,  1810. 


N<^  VHI, 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  page 

1.  Portrait  of  his  Serene  Highness  Prince  LEOroLD  of  Saxe-Cobukg- 

Saalfeld. 

2.  Garuenek's  Cottage  .........     03 

.*i.'  liADiEs'  Evening  Dress         .  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .IIS 

4. Walking  Dress       .........     ih. 

5.    DiNING-RoOM  WlNUOwCuRTAlNS  .......     121 

(i.  Pattern  for  Needle-Wouk. 

page 
FL\H  ARTS. 

Architectural     Hinls. A    Gardener's 

Cottage 63 

Arrhiteeliinil  Rtview.— The  new  Street 
and  Buildings  near  Carlton-House.  Oa 
the  State  of  the  Arts  in  Eiisli\i)it,  and 
the  Keporl  of  the  Committee  of  the 
House  of  Comninns  on  the  Elgii\  Mar- 
bles. On  the  Diftt-icnce  of  the  Greciau 
and  Ilonian  Doric 64 

Chronological  Survey  of  the  most  eminent 
Artists  to  the  Connicnccment  of  the 
Sixteenth  Century. —  Architects;  Pe- 
riod ill  which  they  flourished  J  princi- 
pal Woiks  and  Merits Gs 

THE   DOMESTIC    COMMON- 
PLACE-BOOK. 


PAGE 
and  Account  of  an    Experiment  made 

with  it  by  Dr.  Haniel oi 

The  Female 'I'attier.— No.  VIII       .     .     .     9,1 
Some  Particulars  of  the  Bnttle  of  Water- 
Ion,  in  a  Letter  from  a  Serjeant  in  the 
Guards 


97 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Kalkorenner's  INIarche  suivie  dts  Va- 
riations     104 

EciNEoand  Marescotti's  Non  Feli- 
cior  alter 105 

Parke's  Fare  thee  well ! il,. 

Cramer's  Hibernian  Air io(i 

Smith's  Answer  to  "  Jessy,  the  Flower  of 
Dnmblane" ib. 

Hov,  ell's  Roy's  Wife  of  Alldivaloch     .     itr 

THE  SELECTOR. 


On  the  Loss  of  Weight  in  cooking  INIeat, 

both  boiled  and  roasted       .     .\     .     .     70  L  Remarkable   Apparition,    from  James's 

Receipt  for  making  Gooseberry  and  Cur- 
rant Wine ib. 

Stibiif  itutc  for  Wheatcn  Flour  for  the  Pur- 
pose of  stitfening  Muslins,  Calicoes, 
and  other  Stufl's 73 


New  Method  of  japanninjj  Leather 
Process  of  I5kachin|j  old  Books  and  Prints 
that  are  become  yellow  by  .AgeorSmoke     ib. 

BIOGRAPH IC A L  SKETCHES 
AND  ANECDOTES. 

Anecdotes  <»f  Count  Arancia 75 

Ante  lotc  of  AJ.  de  Bougainville       ...     76 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  Bazaar  of  Beauty 76 

The  Fashionable  Match-Maker       ...     79 

Humanity  Rewarded 82 

The    Danger  of  the  smallest    Deviation 
from  Trutli  illustrated.   By  AvglstUS 

VON  Kotzebue 86 

DescriptionofSir  Humphry  Daw's  Lamp 
fur   piereutiug    Explosions    in    Mines, 


Travels 107 

Russian  Administration  of  Justice,  from 
ditto        109 

The  Emperor  of  Morocco,  from  K  eat- 
in  ge's  Traieln 11,) 

Dei<raded  State  of  the  Jews  in  IMorocio, 
fiom  ditto 112 

African  Jugglers  and  Serpent-Tamers, 
from  ditto 116 

FASHIONS. 

Ladies'  Evening  Dress 1I8 

Walkinc  Dress 16. 


General  Observations  ou  Fashions  and 
Dress 119 

Fashionable  Furniture.  —  Dining-Rooui 
Window- Curtains 


INTELLIGENCE.  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC     .     .     . 

POETRY. 
Extracts  from  <'  The  Rival  Roae&'' 


Mi 


Hi 


1*3 


L  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


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C-AKBEIfJER  >"       '^  '"^TTAvGlE 


THIi 


B^epoisitorp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  ^c» 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


August  1,  1816. 


]N«  VIII. 


FINE  ARTS. 

ARCHITECTUllAL  HINTS. 

PLATE  7.  —  A   gardener's    COTTAGE. 


Although  the  annexed  design 
was  made  expressly  for  the  resi- 
dence of  the  gardener  of  a  nohle- 
inan'sestablisliment,  it  is  quite  ap- 
plicable to  the  purpose  of  a  lodge; 
and  if  a  little  simplified  in  point 
of  embellishment,  would    also  be 
proper  for  the  cottage  of  the  hus- 
bandman:  in  each  of  tiiese  appli- 
cations it  would  afford  convenience 
and    comfort,    and    might   receive 
suitable  enrichment  by  the  planta- 
tions which    should   surround    the  | 
two  former,  or   by  the  more  free 
and   open   scenery  suitable  to  the  ; 
latter.      The  cottage  of  the  gar-  ' 
dener,   in  very  many  instances,  is 
considered  to  be  a  legitimate  em-  i 
bellishment  of  the  grounds,  being 
very    properly    situated    near   the 


teresiing,  provided  the  desijni  is 
favourable,  and  the  situation  ap- 
propriate to  its  object. 

This  building  is  proposed  to  be 
thatched  with  reeds,  as  the  most 
rural  and  picturesque  covering; 
the  brown  tints  of  its  surface  op- 
pose the  various  greens  of  the  fo- 
liage by  which  it  is  accompanied, 
and  give  a  neatness  of  effect  that 
is  very  prepossessing,  which  maybe 
iniproved  by  the  colour  given  to  the 
walls,  should  they  be  built  of  ma- 
terials that  do  not  harmonize  with 
them.  For  the  covering  of  such 
walls  rough-cast  is  very  proper, 
which  is  plastering  finished  by  a 
coatof  lime  n)ixed  with  small  stones 
about  the  size  of  a  pea  or  small 
bean,  and  splashed  upon  it  before 


forcing  and  succession-houses,  that  j  the  plastering  is  yet  dry;  or  by 
they  may  receive  the  attendance  of  I  paretta  work,  so  called  from  the 
the  chief  gardener,    and  with  as  '  French  parnUre,  to  appear,  to  be 


short  intervals  as  occasion  requires ; 
and  if  he  take  pride  in  the  deco- 
ration of  his  al)ode,  he  has  the 
means  ofembowerins  it  with  shrubs, 
creepers,  and  flowering  plants,  by 


seen — or  from  the  Italian  parettUy 
a  small  net ;  as  in  this  case  the  plas- 
tering has  pebbles  of  a  larger  size 
pressed  all  over  it,  and  which  are 
not  afterwards    covered   by   lime, 


which  he  may  render  it  highly  in-  '  wash,  or  colour,  but  exhibit  their 
rul.  IF.  No.  nil.  K 


Q 


ARCHITECTURAL    II I  NTs; — GARDENER  S  COTTAGE. 


own  surfaces,  and  the  wliole  be- 
comes enriched  by  the  white  re- 
ticulation of  the  plastering  in  which 
they  are  set.  The  colours  of  the 
pebbles  should  be  selected  with 
taste,  as  much  of  the  beauty  of 
the  whole  will  depend  on  their  fit- 
ness to  harmonize  with  those  hues 
by  which  tliey  are  surrounded. 

Notwithstanding  cottages  of  this 
description  are  built  with  brick,  yet 
as  the  complexion  of  them  is  at 
variance  with  the  green  tints  of 
the  scenery,  particularly  if  they 
are  the  red  wood -burned  bricks  of 
the  country,  the  coverings  before 
named  are  usually  adopted  for  siuall 
decorative  baildinfjs,  such  as  the 
dairy,  dovecote,  ice-well,  or  bath  ; 


and  for  this  purpose  also  a  finishing 
of  a  very  novel  and  fanciful  effect 
is  produced  by  a  sort  of  rough-cast 
composed  of  coarse  sand  and  small 
pebbles  of  various  sizes,  mixed  up 
with  Roman  cement,  and  diluted  to 
the  consistency  of  common  rough- 
cast, and  thrown  upon  the  walls  in 
larger  quantities  than  is  usual :  this 
is  suffered  to  take  theirreffular  and 
projecting  formso^ stalactitte,  those 
concretions  resembling  icicles  that 
are  frequently  found  in  natural 
grottoes ;  and  they  may  be  coloured 
afterwards  by  tints  representing 
them,  or  by  others  that  seem  to 
mark  a  lapse  of  time:  this  has  hi- 
therto been  practised  only  in  two 
instances. 


ARCHITECTURAL  REVIEW. 

No.  vir. 

THE   NEW   STREET   AND    BUILDINGS   NEAR   CARLTON-HOUSE. 


The  proposed  new  street  from 
Carlton- House  northward  to  Port- 
land-Place has  made  some  progress 
at  both  these  extremities.  In  the 
immediate  neighbourhood  of  the 
former,  the  arrangements  promise 
to  form  a  very  picturesque  and  rich 
embellishment  to  that  part  of  the 
town,  which  being  so  intimatel}' 
connected  with  the  royal  palaces 
of  St.  James  and  Carlton-House, 
might  be  expected  to  aspire  to  a 
higher  claim  of  architectural  dis- 
tinction than  it  has  hitherto  pos- 
sessed. The  Ionic  Iniilding  already 
erected,  and  which,  according  lo 
the  plans,  is  to  be  repeated  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  new  street,  is 
highly  creditable  to  the  architect; 
the  authoriiies  are  v/ell  selected, 
judiciously  a|)plied,  and  the  ba- 
lustrade above  t!ie  colonnades  is 
well  adapted  to  the  concealment  of 


the  roof,  strictly  architectural,  and 
highly  beneficial  to  the  contour  of 
the  building. 

This  design  promises  to  produce, 
by  the  projecting  colonnades  of 
this  and  the  centre  buildings,  a 
never-ceasing  variation  of  light  and 
shade,  that  will  be  highly  pictorial, 
and  form  a  striking  relief  to  the 
other  houses  in  the  neighbourhood. 
The  parts  of  this  building  are  com- 
posed with  reference  to  ancient 
documents,  although  not  strictly 
copied,  nor  indeed  intended  to  be 
so:  they  are  in  good  proportion, 
but  the  subordinate  parts,  such  as 
the  architraves,  archivolts,  and  cor- 
nices to  the  doors  and  windows, 
arc  scarcely  of  corresponding  di- 
mensions; an  error  originatiiigsome 
years  ago,  when  the  extreme  of  what 
was  termed  "lightness"  was  culti- 
vated in  architecture  with  the  ex-= 


TJIE  XLW  STIIKET  AND  LUil.DINGS  NEAR  CARLTON-HOUSL. 


Gj 


ress  tliat  usually  accompanies  every 
chaiioe  in  the  tlieory  of  ait,  but 
which  shonkl  be  remedied  by  the 
better  knowledge  and  improved 
taste  of  the  present  times.  As  these 
buildings  are  yet  in  a  very  early 
stage  of  progress,  further  observa- 
tions upon  their  architectural  me- 
rits would  be  premature,  except 
that  they  are  well  calculated  to  ob- 
viate some  of  the  objections  that 
have  been  made  to  the  screen  in 
front  of  Carlton-House;  which  in- 
deed has  not  escaped  the  severities 
of  criticisn),  without  receiving  the 
due  mixture  of  approbation  that 
in  several  points  it  has  fair  claim 
to. 

If  we  view  this  substitute  for  a 
screen-wall,  and  it  really  is  so,  as 
an  architectural  separation   of  the 
courtof  the  mansion  from  the  street, 
surely  it  will  be  granted,  that  to  be 
thus  open  is  superior  in  point  of 
beauty,   particularly  as  it  is  situa- 
ted, to  such  close  and   continued 
wallsas  thoseof  Burlington-House, 
Harcourt- House,    the    Admiralty, 
or  the   British   Museum.     Had  it  \ 
been  of  this   inclosed  kind,  how- 
ever ornamented  by  architectural  ' 
beauty,  yet  being   on   the   south- 
east side  of  the  street,  and  conse- 
quently deprived  of  the  sun's  rays 
on   the  side  next  to  Pall-Mall,  it 
must   have  thrown   a   ploom    over 
that  part  of  it  which  no   eftort  of 
art  could  have  made  cheerful,  and 
no  judgment  could  have  tolerated. 
The  facade  of  Burlington-House 
is  semicircular  on  its, north-western  i 
aspect,  and  it  was  erected  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  an  ornament-  j 
al  embellishment  to  the  fore  court, 
at  a  very  great  expense  :  its  form  . 
is  most  judiciously  contrived,  be-  \ 
cause  the  extremities  receive,  bv 


their  approach  to  other  aspects,  as 
much  of  the  sun's  rays  as  the  in- 
tervening part  of  the  edifice  will 
permit.     Soon    after   its   erection, 
its  noble  architect,  Lord  Burling- 
ton, was  highly  complimented  upon 
it  by   one  of  the  hist  wits  of  our 
country;  but  being  aware  that  its 
beauties  were  not  fully  manifested 
at  all  times  of  the  day,  he  took  es- 
pecial care  to  remark,  that  the  pe- 
riod of  his  admiration  was  early  in 
the  morning,  when  viewing  it  from 
his  bed-room   window,   and  when 
its    noble    possessor    was    asleep. 
The  screen  of  Carlton-House   is 
said  to  have  originated  from  this 
model,  but   was   of  necessity   de- 
signed upon  a  plan  deviating  very 
,[  little   from  a  straight  line  on  both 
I  its   elevations,  for    the    ground   of 
;  the  fore  court   is  of  very  limited 
i  dimensions;  and  it  was  then  con- 
cludcvl,  that  the  the  street  was  not 
I  wide  enough  to  allow  a  further  pro- 
jection.    A   screen  was,  however, 
considered  to  be  necessary, not  more 
for  the  common  uses  of  suchscj)ara- 
;  tions,   than   in  consequence  of  the 
impossibility  of  obtaining  otherwise 
that  relief  to  the  front  of  C'arlton- 
'  House,  always  in  shadow,  that  was 
desirable  both  for  its  splendour  and 
j  palace-like  pretensions.     To  pro- 
1  ducethis  effect,  such  an  open  screen 
is  applicable;  for  the  round  pillars 
receive  the  sun's  rays  upon  so  much 
of  their  surfaces,  that  they  produce 
a  cheerfulness,  at  all  liuu's  of  the 
i  day,  that  is  greatly  embellishing  to 
Pall-Mall ;  and  when  seen  from  the 
portico  of  Carlton-House,  with  the 
1  full  effect  of  the  sun   upon    it,  it 
:  certainly  possesses  many  beauties, 
!  althoush  it  has  not  the  meatis  of 
I  effecting  great  depth  of  shadow; 
'  and  it  may  be  applauded  for  em- 
K  2 


00    REMARKS    OxN    THE    TRESENT   STATE    OF    THE   ARTS    IN    ENGLAND. 


bracing  in  this  point  of  view,  in 
every  iionr  of  the  day,  many  of 
the  graces  which  the  iayade  at  Bur- 
lington-House was  eulogized  for 
displaying  chiefly  at  the  early  hour 
at  which  some  poets  and  most  phi- 
losophers choose  to  rise  in  the 
morning. 

Some  liints  have  been  given  out, 
that  it  is  proposed  to  remove  the 
screen,  and  on  this  account  per- 
haps so  much  is  said  in  advocation 
of  its  merits:  it  is  not,  however, 
here  maintained,  that  a  subject  may 
not  be  devised  of  much  greater 
beauty,  but  it  ought  to  embrace  all 
the  advantages  that  the  present 
facade  possesses,  both  as  a  deco- 
ration to  the  street  and  as  a  cheer- 
ful appendage  to  the  mansion.  The 
order  of  this  screen,  which  is  the 
Grecian  Ionic,isjudicious]y  adopt- 
ed from  a  fine  example  of  antiqui- 
ty; the  proportions  are  good,  and 
if  the  design  were  completed  ac- 
cording to  the  original  intention, 
the  effect  would  be  greatly  im- 
proved ;  as  it  would  also  by  remov- 
ing the  tripods  which  too  frequently 
repeat  the  upriglit  lines  of  the 
pillars,  and  by  the  substitution  of 
other  forms  more  in  harmony  with 
theprevailingfeatures  of  the  build- 
ing. 

Of  several  letters  received  from 
correspondents  on  the  subject  of 
this  paper,  the  following  are  se- 
lected and  presented  to  our  read- 
ers. 

Sir, — It  is  not  possible  to  view 
with  indifference  the  improvements 
of  the  metropolis  that  have  taken 
place  in  a  very  few  years,  and  which 
are  now  proceeding  in  several  parts 
of  the  town  :  for,  notwithstanding 
theapathy  that  long  existed  towards 
our  architectural  works,  and  a  too 


willing  submission  to  the  sarcasm 
of  our  continental  neighbours,  that 
the  climate  was  inauspicious  to  the 
cultivation  of  art,  I  agree  with  you, 
that  an  era  has  arrived  in  which 
public  feeling  has  joined  issue  with 
the  research  and  talent  of  our  own 
artists. 

The  affectation  of  superior  taste 
for  virtu,  which  in  the  would-be 
connoisseur  was  supported  by  a 
scornful  disregard  for  native,  and 
indeed  for  modern,  art,  is  found  to 
be  not  quite  so  successful  as  here- 
tofore :  better  taste  and  a  more 
general  knowledge  have  made  use- 
less this  easy  and  plausible  appro- 
priation of  the  honours  belonging 
to  true  feeling,  and  have  nearly 
abolished  tliis  specious  system  of 
self-adulation,  so  often  supported 
at  a  sacrifice  of  the  character  of  the 
country. 

The  criticisms  that  were  judi- 
cious half  a  century  ago  are  so  no 
longer;  foreigners  are  found  to 
pay  tributes  of  admiration  to  our 
works;  and  if  we  ourselves  revert 
to  them,  unbiassed  by  the  preju- 
dices of  early  times,  matter  will  be 
found  on  which  to  congratulate 
ourselves,  and  to  encourage  us  to 
pursue  with  zeal  and  confidence 
that  object,  which  our  political 
economy,  our  wealth  and  interest, 
are  so  well  calculated  to  foster  and 
promote;  and  it  must  be  agreeable 
to  every  lover  of  the  arts,  to  find  the 
following  sentin)ents  entertained 
by  the  legislature  of  the  country, 
and  which  arp  thus  expressed  in 
the  report  from  the  select  commit- 
tee of  the  House  of  Commons  on 
the  Earl  of  Elgin's  collection  of 
sculptured  marbles: — 

*'  Your  committee  cannot  dismiss 
this    interesting   subject,    without 


DIFFERENCES    OF    TIIF    GUIiC'lAN    AND    UOMAN    DORIC    0IIDI:R. 


67 


submitting  to  the  altcntivc  reHcc- 
tioii  of  the  House,  how  highly  the 
cullivatiou  ot"  the  fine  arts  has  eoii- 
tribiitecl  to  tlie  roijutation,  eharac- 
ter,  and  dignity  of  every  govern- 
ment by  which  they  have  been  en- 
couraged, and  how  intimately  they 
are  connected   uitii  the   advance- 
ment of  every    tiling   vaUiable  in 
science,  literature,  and  philosophy. 
In  contemplating  the   im|)ortance 
and  s|)lendour  to  which  so  small  a 
republic    as   Athens    rose,    by   the 
genius  and  energy  of  lier  citizens 
exerted  in  the  patli  of  such  studies, 
it  is  impossible   to  overlook,  how 
transient  the  memory  and  fame  of 
extended    empires  and  of   mighty 
conquerors  are,   in  comparison  of 
those  who   have  rendered  inconsi- 
derable states  eminent,  and  immor- 
talized their  own   names  by  these 
pursuits.     But  if  it  be  true,  as  we 
learn  from  iiistory  and  experience, 
that  free  governments  allord  a  soil 
most  suitable  to  the  production  of 
native  talent,  to  the  maturing  of 
the   powers  of  the   human    mind, 
and  to  the  growth  of  every  species 
of  excellence,  by  opening  to  merit 
the    prospect  of  reward  and   dis- 
tinction, no  country  can  be  better 
adapted  than  our  own  to  afford  an 
honourable  asylum  to  these  monu- 
ments of  the  school  of  Phidias,  and 
of  the  administration  of  Pericles; 
where,  secure  from  further  injury 
and  degradation,  they  may  receive 
that    admiration    and    homajxe    to 
which  they  are  entitled,  and  serve, 
in  return,  as  models  and  examples 
to  those,  who,  by  knowing  how  to 
revere  and  appreciate  them,  may 
learn  first  to  imitate,  and  ultimate- 
ly to  rival  them." 

If  the  above  observations  and  ex- 
tract are  suitable  to  the  Architec- 


tural Review,  I  am  ha|j|)y  to  sub- 
scribe them  to  its  useful  object. 

A.MATLUR. 


Sir, — Your  observations  on  the 
differences   between    the    Grecian 
and  Roman  orders  of  architecture 
have  led  me  to  reflect  on  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  ;is  there  are  yet  some  not 
noticed  by  you  in  the  fifth  number  of 
the  Review,  I  beg  leave  to  suggest 
the  propriety  of  noticing  them  in 
a  future  paper.    The  peculiar  fea- 
tures of  the  Doric  order  are  the 
triglyphs,  and  the  consequent  ar- 
rangement of  the  metopes.     The 
triglyi)hs,  representing  the  ends  of 
timbers,   or    transverse    blocks  of 
stone,   are,   in    the   Roman   order, 
placed  centrally  over  every  column, 
and  the  intervals  between  the  co- 
lumns are  thus  rendered  equal,  if 
so  desired,   marking  a  clear   dis- 
tinction from  the  Greek  arrange- 
ment, which   has  the  triglyphs  at 
the  angles  of  the  building,  placed 
quite  at  the  extremity  of  the  frieze, 
so  that  the  nietopes  next  to  thera 
in  order,  to  preserve  a  regular  in- 
tcrcolumniation,    must   be    longer 
than  the  other  metopes  by  half  the 
width  of  one  of  them,  otherw  ise  the 
uniformity  of  interval  must  be  sa- 
crificed, and  the  columns  at   the 
corners  be  placed  so  much  closer 
together.    In  this  jiarticular,  I  pre- 
sume the  Roman  arrantjement  to 
be  superior  to  that  of  the  Greeks. 
Not  so  with  the  architrave  of  the 
Grecian  Doric  order,  which  is  about 
the  same  height  as  the  frieze;  and 
taking  the  whole  entablature,  con- 
sisting of  architrave,   frieze,  and 
cornice,  to  be  two  tiiameters  of  the 
column    in  height,  the  ej)isiyliuni 
and  frieze  will  each  occupy  three- 
quarters   of  a   diameter,   and  the 


68    CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


cornice  half  a  diameter.  This  pro- 
portion makes  the  architrave  to  be 
of  a  substance  that  is  apparently 
fully  equal  to  bear  the  superin- 
cumbent weight  of  the  triglyphs, 
or  beam-ends  :  whereas  the  archi- 
trave of  the  Roman  Doric  order, 
being  usually  less  than  half  a  dia- 
meter high,  seems  to  be  too  weak 
to  support  its  own  weight,  and  is 
consequently  overcharged  by  the 
weight  above  it.  The  eflPect  of  this 
is  very  painful  to  a  correct  eye. 


The  abacus,  or  covering  of  the 
capital  of  the  column,  being  quite 
plain  in  the  Greek,  and  ornament- 
ed by  mouldings  in  the  Roman 
model,  presents  a  decided  differ- 
ence of  character  ;  and  this  is  more 
evident  in  the  form  of  the  echynus 
or  ovolo,  and  the  annulets  or  fillets 
beneath  them.  B.  B. 

It  is  requested,  that  correspond- 
ence addressed  to  the  writer  of  this 
article,  maybe  forwarded  before  the 
end  of  the  current  month. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF   THE   MOST   EMINENT   ARTLSTS  TO 
THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 

CContinved  from  p.  \'2.) 


ARCHITECTS;  PERIOD  IN  WHICH 
THEY  FLOURISHED;  PRINCIPAL 
WORKS   AND    MERITS. 

Baccio  PiNTELLi,  of  Florencp,  1450. 
Church  and  convent  of  S.  Maria  del 
Popolo,  at  Rome.  The  celebrated 
Capella  Sislina  in  the  Vatican.  The 
hospital  of  S.  Spiiito  in  Sassia,  Ponte 
Sisto,  and  the  church  of  S.  Pietro  in 
Vinculis,  at  Rome.  He  first  set  the 
example  of  grandeur  in  the  architec- 
ture of  chapels. 

Bartolomeo  Bramantino,  of  Italy, 
1 450.  The  church  of  S.  Safyrus  at  Mi- 
lan, Many  other  buildings  in  various 
cities  of  Italy. 

Giovanni  del  Pozzo,  of  Spain,  1450. 
The  Dominican  convent,  and  a  great 
bridge  over  the  river  Huecar,  near 
Cuenza. 

Francesco  di  Giorgio,  of  Siena,  1450. 
The  ducal  palace  at  Urbino. 

EiDOLFO  FioRAVANTi,  of  Bologna,  1450. 
He  restored  the  hanging  tower  of  the 
church  of  S.  Biagio,  at  Cento,  to  Its 
perpendicular  position,  and  built 
many  churches  at  Moscow. 

Bratviante  Lazzari,  of  Castel  Durante, 
near  Urbino,  1 470.  He  first  designed 
and  commenced  the  building  of  St. 


Peter's,  at  Rome.  He  executed  many 
works  in  the  Vatican,  the  Rotunda 
in  the  convent  of  S.  Pietro  Montorio, 
at  Rome;  the  Julia  street  in  that  city; 
the  ducal  palace  at  Urbino;  a  detach- 
ed circular  temple  near  Todi ;  and 
designed  many  plans  for  other  edi- 
fices. He  manifested  a  decided  pre- 
dileclion  for  the  ancient  Greek  style. 

Ventura  ViTONi,  of  Pistoja,  1470.  The 
church  dell  Umilta,  at  Pistoja. 

Francesco  Giamberti,  of  Florence, 
1470.  He  designed  numerous  plans 
for  buildings  at  Florence  and  Rome, 
but  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  work 
composed  by  him,  containing  many 
drawings  of  ancietit  monuments  about 
Rome  and  in  Greece,  upon  parch- 
ment, which  is  preserved  in  the  Bar- 
berini  library  at  Rome,  and  has  never 
been  published. 

GiuLiANO  1)1  Sangallo,  SOU  of  Giam- 
berti, of  Florence,  1490.  The  Car- 
melite convent  at  Florence.  A  pa- 
lace at  Cajano,  for  Lorenzo  di  Medi- 
cis.  The  convent  of  the  hermits  of 
St.  Augustin,  before  the  gate  of  S. 
Gallo,  at  Florence.  Cupola  of  the 
church  della  Madonna,  at  Loreto. 
Restoration  of  the  roof  of  the  church 
of  S.  Maria  Maggiore,  at  Rome.   The 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EiMINENT  AKCIIITF.CTS.     C9 


Palaz/A)  Rovere,  nr;,r  S.  Pietro  in  Vin- 
culis,  atRo!i:e.     Tik;  Palazzu  Eovere, 
at  Savonu.    i  he  fDrfrc^s  ami  gate  of  S. 
Marco,  at  Pisa,     ]\l-,ny  other  palaces. 
He  was  tiDincni  for   his  .vk  II  it»  ihe 
morltTii  style  of  forlilicalion. 
Leonahho  i)\  Vinci,  of  Ca.sicllo  da  Vin- 
ci, neai  rioience,    14-90.     The  aque- 
duct of  the   Adda,   at   Milan,   iiiidei 
Liidovico  Sforza,  the  ivioor      'Mie  na- 
vigable  canal   di    Moitesaiia,    in  the 
valleys  of  the  Valtelin.     Various  ma- 
chines', plans,  aiul  uoilis  on  archilcc- 
ture. 
SiMONE  Pallajolo,  otf  Floiencc,    I  WO. 
Facade  of  tht;  Palazzo  Strozzi,  at  Flo- 
rence.    Church  of  Si.  Francis,  at  S. 
Miniato,  near  Florence,  called  by  Mi- 
chael    Ant^elo   La    Bella    Villanella. 
Convent  of  ihe  St;rvites,  at  Florence. 
Sacristy  of  S.   Spirito,    at   Florence. 
His  style  di-^played  great  taste. 
Andrea  Contucci,  of  Monte  Sansovi- 
no,  1490.     The  beautiful  chapel  del 
Sa;irairjento  in  S.  Spirito,  at  Florence. 
Many  buildings  in  Portugal. 
Baccio  d'Agnolo,  of  Florence,    IjOO. 
The  beautiful  steeple  of  S.  Spirito,  at 
Floreiu  e.    A  steeple  at  Majaro.    The 
Palazzo  Banolini.  at  Florence. 
NovELLo  UA  San   Lucano,  of  Naples, 
J  300.     The  palace  of  Prince  Robert 
Sanseverino,  Duke  of  Salerno,  at  Na- 
ples. 
Raffaei.lo  n'UnBiNO,  of  Uibino,  1.500. 
Continuation  of  the  cathedral  of  St. 
Peter,   at  Rome,    after  the  death  of 
Braniante.     Fagade    of    the    church 
of  S.  Lorenzo,  and  of  the  Palazzo  U";- 
goccioni,  now  Pandolfini,  at  F'lorence. 
The  Palazzo  Cafiiarelli,  now  Stoppani, 
at  Rome.     Subordinate    buildings   of 
theFarncsina  in  the  same  city.     Se- 
veral other  buildings.     Tasteful  style. 
Gabrjlllo  d'Agnolo,  of  Naples,  1500. 
Church  of  S.  Giuseppe,  church  of  S. 
Maria  Egiziaca.   palace  of  Duke  Gia- 
vina,  at  Naples. 
GiAN  Francesco  Normando,  of  Flo- 
.renco,  1500.     Church  of  S.  Scverino, 


I      Palazzo  Fil'^marini.    Palazzo   Can^a- 
I       lupo  in  the  Posilipo,  at  Naples.     Se- 
veral buildings  in  Spain. 
Antonio    F'imuentino,     of    Florence, 
1500.     Church  of  S.  Catherine,  with 
a  cupola,  which  is  said  to  have  been 
the  first  erected  upon  a  large  scale  at 
Naples. 
Baldassare  Peruzzi,  ofVoltcrra,  1500. 
Plan  and  model   of  the  cathedral  di 
Carpi,   at   Bolngna.     Fortifications  »t 
Siena.     The   Farnesina    in  the    Lon- 
gaia,  the   Palazzo  Massimi,  and   the 
tomb   of   Pope   Hadii;in   W.    in    the 
church  dell'  Anima,  at   Rome.      He 
assisted  in  the  erection  of  Si.  I'e'er's 
in  that  city,  and  was  distinguished  for 
a  tasteful  style. 
FuaGiocondo,  of  Verona,  1500.  Many 
bridges,    especially     that    of    Noire 
Dame,  at  Paris.     He  was  engaged  in 
the  erection  of  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome, 
after  the  death  of  Bramante. 
PiETRO    LoMBARDo,    of  Venice,    1.500. 
Tomb  of  Dante,  the  poet,  in  the  church 
of  St.  Francis,  at  Ravenna,  by  com- 
mand of  Cardinal  Bembo.     Churches 
of  S.    Paolo,   S.    Giovanni,   S.  Maria 
Mater  Domini,  and  clock-tower  in  llie 
.square  of  St.  Mark,  aL  \'eiiice. 
Martino  Lombardo,  of  V^enice,   1500. 
The   Confraterniia   of  S.   Marco,   at 
Venice. 
Bartolkmeo  Buono,  of  Bergamo,  1500. 
Church  of  S.  Hocco,   and  the  Procu- 
ratoreria  Vecchia,  at  Venice. 
Antonio  Sangallo,  of  Mugcl'o,  near 
Florence,   1500.     The  church  of  (he 
Madona  di  Lorrto,  near  Trajan's  pil- 
lar,   and    the   Palazzo  of    the  Conte 
Palma,    at  Rome.     The  fortifications 
of  Civiia  Vecchia.     The  forliticaiions 
of  Parma,  Ancona,   and  many  other 
strong  places   in    Italy.      Triumphal 
arch   in  the  square   of  St.   Mark,    at 
Venice.     He  commenced  the  build- 
ing of  the  Palazzo  Farnesc  at   Rome, 
and  assisted  in  the  works  at  St.  Peter's 
till  15+6.     He  displayed   great  per- 
fection in  all  the  parts  of  the  style 


70    CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


adopted  in  modern  architecture,  and 
combined    grandeur  with  good  taste 
and  solidity. 
Sante  LoMBARDO,  of  Venice,  1520.  The 
Palazzo  Vendramini,  staircase  and  fa- 
cade of  the    school  of  S.  Rocco,   at 
Venice. 
GuGLiELMO  Bergamasco,  of  Bergamo, 
1520.     The  Capella  limiliana  of  the 
Camaklulen^es  at  Murano.     The  Pa- 
lazzo de  Cuiuerlinghi  on  the  RiaUo, 
at  Venice.      Palace   at   Portogruato, 
in  the   Friul.      The   admirable   gate 
called  11  Portello,  at  Padua. 
Giovanni  Maria  Falconetto,  of  Ve- 
rona,  1520      The  churcli  della  Ma- 
dona  delle  Grazie,  for  the  Dominicans, 
at  Padua.     A   palace    in   the    Caste! 
d'Usopo,  in  the  Friul.     The  Palazzo 
Cornaro,  at  Padua. 
Girolamo  Genoa,  of  Urbino,  1530.     A 
paUice   fur   the   Duke  of  Urbino,    at 
Pesaro.     Facade  of  the  cathedral   at 
Mantua. 
MiCHELO  Sanmicheli,  of  Verona,  1520. 
Cathedral  of  Monte  Fiascone.     The 
celebrated  church  of  St.  Dominic,  at 
Orvieto.    A  great  number  of  fortresses 
in  the  Venetian  territory,    in    Corfu, 
Lombardy,  and  the  Ecclesiastical  State. 
Many   palaces  at  Verona,    the   prin- 
cipal of  which  are  the  following  five  : 
Canossa,  Bevilacqua,  Pellegrini,  Ver- 
zi,  and  the  Praefecturel     Many  gates 
at  Verona,  of  which   that  del   Pallio 
is  the  most  celebrated.      He  was  an 
artist  of  great  merit,  and  distinguish- 
ed fur  his  improvements  in  fortifica- 
tion. 
Michelangelo    Bonarotti,     of    Flo- 
rence, J  520.     The  library  of  the  Me- 
dicis,  at  Florence.     The   second  sa- 
cristy of  Lorenzo,  at  the  same  place. 
Fortifications  at  Florence  and  at  St. 
Miniato.     Monument  of  Julius  II.  in 
the  church  of  S.  Pietro  in  Vinculis,  at 
Rome.     Palace   of  the  Conservators, 
and  flight  of  steps  in  the  Capitol,  at 
Rome.     Continuation  of  the  Farne<e 
palace,  and  several  gates  at  Rome, 


among  which  the  Porta  Pia  deserves 
particular  mention.  The  steeple  of 
S.  Michele,  at  Ostia.  The  tower  of 
S.  Lorenzo,  at  Ardea.  The  church  of 
S.  Maria  in  the  Certosa,  at  Rome. 
Many  plans  of  churches,  chapels,  and 
palaces;  among  others,  that  of  the 
Capella  Strozzi,  at  Florence,  and  the 
Sapienza,  at  Rome.  After  the  death 
of  Sangallo,  he  was  engaged  in  pro- 
secuting the  works  of  St.  Peter's,  at 
Rome,  especially  that  part  which  sup- 
ports the  cupola.  Flis  chief  merits 
were  grandeur,  boldness,  beauty,  and 
solidity. 
Mastro  FiLippo,  of  Spain,  1520.  Re- 
storation of  the  celebrated  cathedral 
of  Seville. 
Giovanni  diOlolzaga,  of  Biscay,  1520. 
Cathedral  of  Huesca,  in  Arragon.  He 
blended  the  modern  Greek  style  with 
the  Gothic. 
I  PiETRO  Di  Gum  1  el,  of  Spain,  1520. 
j  Convent  of  S.  Engracia,  at  Saragossa. 
College  of  Alcala,  in  the  Gothico- 
I      Greek  style. 

i  Giovanni  Alonso,  of  Spain,  1520.   Ce- 
lebrated sanctuary  of  Guadelupe. 
!  Fra  Giovanni  d'Escobedo,  of  Spain, 
I       1520.     Grand  aqueduct  of  Segovia, 
constructed  by  order  of  Queen  Isa- 
bella—  the  first  celebrated  aqueduct 
of  modern  times. 
Giovanni   Campero,    of  Spain,    1520. 
Church  and  convent  of  St.  Francis,  at 
Fordelaguna,  erected  by  command  of 
Cardinal  Ximenes.     Gloomy  style. 
Marco  di  Pino,  of  Siena,  1530.   Church 
and  convent  of  Gesu  Vecchio,  at  Na- 
ples. 
Andrea  Brioso,  of  Padua,  1530.  Beau- 
tiful church  of  St.  Giustina,  at  Padua. 
Alessandro  Bassano,  ofBassano,  1530. 
Council-house  in  the  Piazza  de  Sig- 
nori,  at  Padua. 
Ferdinando  Manlio,  of  Naples,  1530. 
Churchof  theNunziata;  several  streets 
and  palaces  at  Naples. 
Giulio   Pippi,    surnamed   Romano,  of 
Rome,  1530.     Villa  Madaraa,  Casino 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  ARCHITECTS. 


71 


Lante,  church  dclla  Maclona  ilel  ()i!o, 
Palazzo  Cicciaporci,  Palazzo  Ceiiti,al 
Rome.  The  celebrated  Palazzo  T.  ai 
Mantua ;  the  palace  at  Marmirolo, 
near  Mantua;  besides  many  other 
buildings  in  that  city.  Facade  of  S. 
Petronio,  at  Bologna.  His  style  was 
highly  cheerful  and  pleasing. 

J.\coBo  Tatti,  surnanied  Sansovino,  of 
Florence,  1330.  Church  of  S.  jMar- 
cello,  and  the  Palazzo  Nicolini,  at 
Rome.  Church  of  S.  Francesco  della 
Vigna,  the  Mint,  library  nf  St.  IMark, 
and  the  Palazzo  Cornari,  at  Venice. 
Beautiful  church  of  San  Fantino, 
church  of  San  Geminiano,  with  many 
other  buildings  there.  He  displaced 
a  remarkably  pure  taste  in  the  Lom- 
bard style. 

Giovanni  IMehliano,  of  Nola,  1530. 
Street  of  Toledo,  church  of  the  Geno- 
ese, church  of  the  Spaniards,  plan  of 
the  palace  of  San  Scvero,  and  of  the 
palace  of  the  Duca  della  Torre,  at 
IS'apks. 

Giovanni  Gil  de  Hontanon,  of  Spain, 
]  530.  Plan  of  the  cathedral  of  Sala- 
manca. 

RoDRiGO  Gil  de  Hontanon,  of  Spain, 
I  5+0,  He  superintended  the  erection 
of  the  cathedial  of  Salamanca.  The 
cathedral  of  Segovia. 

PiETRO  DE  UuiA,  of  Spain,  1540.  The 
celebrated  bridge  of  Almaraz  over  the 
Tagus. 

Alonso  de  CoDAURuniAS,  of  Spain, 
15  1-0.  Repair  of  the  church  of  Tole- 
do, erected  in  587,  during  the  reign  of 
King  Reccaredo.  Facade  of  the  Alca- 
ziar,  in  the  sameciiy.  Convent  and 
church  of  St.  iNIichael,  at  Yalenza. 

Diego  Siloe,  of  Toledo,  151-0.  The 
cathedral  and  Alcaziar  at  Granada. 
The  church  and  convent  of  St.  Jerome, 
in  the  same  city. 

Damiano  FouMENT,  of  Valenza,  1550. 
Fa9ade  of  the  chur^  h  of  S.  Engracia, 
at  Saragossa. 

Mautino  de  Gainza,  of  Spain,  1550. 
The  magnificent  chapel  rova!  at  Seville. 
VoL  IF.  No,  rilL 


Alonso  Berulcuete,  of  Parades,  near 
Valladolid,  1550.  Plan  of  the  former 
royal  palace  at  Madrid.  Gale  of  S. 
Marlino,  at  Toledo.  Palace  of  Alcala, 
in  that  city.  He  assisted  in  the  erec- 
tion of  the  cathedral  of  Cuenza. 

PiETRo  de  Valdf.vira,  of  Valdcvim, 
1550.  The  remarkably  beautiful 
chapel  of  S.  Salvator  at  L'beda,  and 
likewise  a  palace  in  the  same  place. 
The  hospital  and  chapel  of  S.  Jago,  at 
Baeza. 

PiETRO  EzGUERRA,  of  Ojc-bar,  near  Pe- 
rayas,  1550.  Cathedral  of  Plasencia. 
Church  of  S.  Matteo  de  Caceres. 
Church  of  Malpartida. 

Ferdinando  Ruiz,  of  Cordova,  1550. 
He  heiLHiteneil  the  great  stee[)le  of  the 
cathedral  of  Seville,  tailed  llie  Torre 
della  Giralda. 

Machuca,  of  Spain,  1550.  Royal  pa- 
lace at  Granada. 

DoMENico  Teotocopoli,  of  Greece, 
15tiO.  College  of  the  Dmina  Maria 
d'Aragona,  at  Madrid.  Church  and 
convent  of  the  Dominican  nuns,  and 
likewise  the  Ayuntamiento,  at  Tole- 
do. Church  and  convent  of  the  Ber- 
nardino nun<,  at  Silos.     Gloomy  style. 

Garzia  d'Emere,  of  Spain,  1560.  Pa- 
rochial church  of  Valern,  nearCuenza. 

Bartolomfo  01  Blstamente,  ofSpain, 
15tiO.  Hospital  of  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist, near  Toledo. 

GiovANBATTisTA  Di  ToLEPO,  of  Tole- 
do, 15t)0.  The  celebrated  palace  of 
theEscurial  was  built  after  his  designs. 
He  assisted  in  planning  the  street  of 
Toledo  at  Naples;  the  church  of  St. 
Jago,  belonging  lo  the  Sj.^aniards;  and 
a  palace  at  Posilipo,  in  the  sarar.  city. 
The  Escurial  was  the  tirst  palace  upon 
an  extensive  scale  in  Europe. 

Giovanni  d'Hei^rera,  of  Movellar,  in 
Astoria,  1570.  He  continued  the  Escu- 
rial  after  the  deaih  of  his  master  Gin- 
vanbaltisia.  Plan  of  the  church  of  St, 
Jago,  nearCuenza.  Bridge  of  Segovia, 
at  Madrid.  The  palace  of  Aranjuez. 
(To  he  continued. J 


72 


THE  DOMESTIC  COMMONPLACE-BOOK; 

Containing  authentic  Receipts  and  vuscellaneons  Information  in  every  Branch  of 
Domestic  Economjj,  and  of  general  Utility. 


ON  TIIK  LOSS  OF  WEIGHT  WHICH 
TAKES  PLACE  IN  THE  COOKING 
OF  MEAT,  BOTH  BOILED  AND 
ROASTED. 

In  whatever  way  the  flesh  of 
animals  is  cooked  as  an  article  of 
food,  a  considerable  diminution 
takes  place  in  its  weight.  It  is  sin- 
gular, that  no  experiments  have 
been  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
public  on  this  subject,  for  it  is  evi- 
dent they  would  beof  useto  the  fru- 
gal housekeeper  and  the  public  at 
large.  The  following  experiments 
were  made  in  a  public  establish- 
ment; they  were  undertaken  not 
from  mere  curiosity,  but  to  serve 
a  purpose  of  practical  utility.  They 
evidently  show,  that  the  loss  of 
weiji'ht  is  smaller  in  th.e  boiling;  of 
meat,  than  it  is  in  roasting  it;  and 
independent  of  this  smaller  loss  of 
weight  in  boiling,  it  must  be  ob- 
served, that  the  animal  jelly  and 
juices  of  the  meat  are  also  render- 
ed edible  in  the  broth  furnished  at 
the  same  time,  by  the  addition  of 
a  few  vegetables,  rice,  barley,  &c. : 
whereas  in  the  roasting,  broilinof, 
and  baking  of  meat,  these  are  eva- 
porated into  the  air,  and  conse- 
qjiently  lost.  Whether  roasted  or 
boiled  meat  is  more  nutritious,  is 
a  question  on  which  I  cannot  speak : 
my  medical  friends  believe,  that 
boiled  animal  food  is  more  nutri- 
tious than  such  as  is  roasted,  broil- 
ed, or  baked.  The  following  are 
the  results  of  the  experiments:  — 
28  Pieces  of  beef,  weighing  2S0//).s. 

lost  in  boiling  73/66'.  14or.  or  26| 

per  cent. 


19  Pieces  of  beef,  weighing  IQOlbs. 
lost  in  roasting  Qllbs.  2uz.  or  32 
per  cent. 

9  Pieces  of  beef,  weighing  QOlbs. 
lost  in  baking  27/^5.  or  30  per 
cent. 

27  Legs  of  mutton,  weighing  260/^5. 
lost  in  boiling,  and  by  having 
the  shank  bones  taken  away,  Q2lbs. 
\oz.  The  shank  bones  were  es- 
timated at  4o~.  each,  so  that  the 
real  loss  by  the  boiling  was 
bblbs.  8o2.  or  21^  per  cent. 

19  Loins  of  mutton,  weighing  141/6.5. 
lost  in  roasting  Vdlbs.  140*.  or  35| 
per  cent. 

10  Necks  of  mutton,  weighing 
100/6.';.  lost  in  roasting  32/6i.  Qoz. 
or  32i  per  cent. 

It  is  therefore  more  economical, 
upon  the  whole,  to  boil  than  to  roast 
meat;  but  in  whatever  way  meat 
is  prepared  for  the  table,  there  is 
lost  from  i  to  -^  of  its  weight. 

RECEIPT    FOR    MAKING    GOOSE- 
BE  KRY    WINE. 

In  laying  before  our  readers  a 
receiptfor  making  gooseberry  wine, 
to  fulfil  the  promise  we  made  on  a 
former  occasion  (see  Repositori/^ 
No.  II.  page  73),  we  do  not  pre- 
sume to  say  that  this  is  the  very 
same  receipt  that  was  possessed  by 
the  wife  of  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field ;  but  v.e  have  no  doubt  it  will 
produce  a  beverage  nearly  as  good, 
though  it  may  not  be  equally  for- 
tunate in  obtaining  another  Gold- 
smith to  immortalize  its  excellence. 
The  method  of  making  the  wine 
is  as  follows: — 

Put  to  every  two  quarts  of  full 


RECEIPT   FOR   GOOSEBERRY   AND   CURItANT   WINE. 


73 


Tipe  gooseberries,  maslicd,  an  equal 
quantity  of  milk-warm  water,  in 
\  which  liasbeen  previously  dissolved 
\lb.  of  common  loaf  sugar;  let  the 
whole  liewell  stirred  together,  and 
cover  up  with  a  blanket  the  tub  or 
pan  in  which  the  mixture  is  put  to 
ferment  partially.  When  it  has 
remained  in  the  tub  three  or  four 
days,  with  frequent  stirring,  strain 
the  ingredients,  first  through  a  i 
sieve,  then  through  a  coarse  cloth,  1 
and  afterwards  put  it  into  a  cask,  : 
which  should  be  kept  full  where  it  j 
is  suffered  to  ferment,  from  ten  ' 
days  to  a  fortnight.  At  the  end  of 
this  period,  add  two  or  three  bot- 
tles of  brandy  to  every  gallon  of 
the  wine  ;  and  before  the  cask  is 
bunged  up,  put  into  it  also  a  little 
isingUiss  (about  lor.  to  nine  gallons 
of  the  wine),  previously  dissolved 
in  water.  In  a  fortnight,  if  clear 
at  the  top,  it  may  be  tasted,  and 
more  refined  sugar  added  if  not 
sweet  enough.  After  being  six 
months  in  the  cask,  it  may  be  bot- 
tled; but  the  sooner  it  is  bottled 
after  being  quite  fine,  the  more  it 
will  sparkle  and  resemble  cham- 
paign. 

Currant  wine  may  be  made  in  a 
like  manner.  Brown  sugar  always 
gives  to  home-made  wines  a  parti- 
cularly treacly  taste;  and  the  prac- 
tice of  taking  unripe  gooseberries 
(as  frequently  recommended),  in- 
stead of  the  ripe  fruit,  is  a  bad  one, 
the  absurdity  of  which  might  easily 
be  proved  chemically.  In  making 
this  remark,  we  do  not  mean  to 
deny  that  excellent  wine  may  be 
made  from  unripe  gooseberries ; 
but  in  that  case  a  much  larger 
proportion  of  sugar  is  required, 
than  if  the  fruit  be  employed  in  a 
state  of  maturity. 


SUliSTITUTK  rori  WHEATEX  i-r.ouff, 
\VIIi:X  APri.lLD  FOR  'J'JIK  I'UR- 
I'OSES  OF  STIFFENING  MUSLINS, 
CALICOES,    AND    OTHER    STUFFS. 

From  some  ex|)eriincnts  made  in 
the  manufactories  of  linens  in  Prus- 
sia, and  particularly  at  Erfurth,  in 
Saxony,   to   discover   a  substitute 
forwheaten  flour  to  stiil'en  muslins, 
&c.    it  has    been    found,  that    the 
farfiift,  or  hour,  of  the  Canary  seed 
(Fkaiaris  Cauariemis),  is  far  supe- 
rior to  wheaten  flour  in  the  stiffen- 
ing of  fine   cambrics   or  muslins; 
because  it  renders  the  threads  ex- 
tremely   pliable,    and    imparts    to 
them  the  capability  of  retaining  a 
minute   portion    of  moisture,    the 
absenceofwliich  renders  the  thread 
brittle;  and  which,  in  summer  par- 
ticularly, is  a  material  obstacle  in 
the  business  of  the    cambric   and 
muslin-weaver.     The  warp  is  like- 
wise   rendered   more   tender,    and 
the  thread  possessing  greater  plia- 
bility, enables  the  workman  lo  make 
the  tissue  more  close  and  uniform, 
and  of  al)eiier  quality. 
\      The  flour  of  the  seed  is  obtain- 
ed by  simply  bruising  the  Canary 
i  seed,  and  it  may  be  used   in  a  few 
days  after  its  preparation  :   v.  hcreas 
I  the  common   wheaten    flour   paste 
!  requires  to  lie  fermented  to  a  cer- 
1  tain    degree.      And    although   the 
I  price  of  the  Canary  seed  flour  sur- 
passes that  of  the  flour  of  wheat, 
this  difl'erence  is  compensated   by 
i  the  time  which  the  workman  gains 
!|  in  manufacturing  a  certain   quan- 
'1  tity  of  goods  in  a  given  period,  and 
j!  also  by  the  superiority  of  the  ma- 
nufactured article.     It  is  needless 
to  state,  that  the  Canary  seed  gras§- 
thrives  well  in  this  country. 
L  2 


74 


NEW    METHOD    OF   Ji\PANNING   LEATHER. 


NEW    METHOD    OF    JAPANNING 
LKATHER. 

To  the  Editor. 
Sir, — I  take  tlie  liberty  of  for- 
warding to  you  a  description  of 
the  new  method  of  japanning  lea- 
ther which  has  of  late  been  |jrac- 
tised  in  this  metropolis,  by  a  native 
of  Germany,  from  whose  countrv 
this  process  is  said  to  be  imported  ; 
and  as  the  articles  are  extremely 
beautiful,  and  are  rendered  by  the 
process  under  consideration  imper- 
vious to  wet,  with^.ut  losing  plia- 
bility, I  have  reason  to  believe  you 
will  allow  these  lines  a  corner  in 
your  Reposifon/.     I  am,  &c. 

A.  E.  A  ROLF. 

White  Japan. 

This  japan,  which  never  changes 
its  colour,  and  which  absolutely 
withstands  all  the  chemical  agents 
that  blacken  other  white  pigments 
used  in  japanning,  is  obtained  in 
the  following  manner: — 

Let  some  artificial  carbonate  of 
barytes  (obtained  by  decomposing, 
or  pouring  into  a  solution  of  native 
carbonate  of  barytes,  a  saturated 
solution  of  subcarbonate  of  am- 
monia), be  ground  up  with  a  suffi- 
cient quantity  of  white  oil  varnish, 
and  apply  it  successively  upon  the 
leather.  This  being  done,  the  fi- 
nishing coats  are  given  to  the 
article  with  a  japan  composed  of 
carbonate  of  barytes  ground  up 
with  white  copal  varnish,  and  when 
perfectly  dr}',  the  leather  is  po- 
lished with  a  piece  of  felt  and  finely 
levigated  pumice-stone  powder, 
and  the  last  or  finishing  polish  is 
applied  by  means  of  a  sponge  or 
soft  brush  and  burnt  hartshorn 
powder. 

Yellow  Japan. 

To  obtain    a   clear   transparent 


yellow,  the  leather  must  of  course 
be  white,  and  a  yellow  dye  is  given 
to  it  by  means  of  woad,  or  French 
berries,  and  alum  ;  and  when  per- 
fectly dry,  the  japan  ground  of 
patent  yellow  is  applied,  in  the 
manner  stated  above. 
lied  Japan. 

For  this  purpose,  the  base  of 
the  japan  ground  must  be  made 
up  with  madder  lake,  ground  up 
with  oil  of  turpentine;  this  forms 
the  first  ground.  Vv^hen  perfectly 
dry,  a  second  coat  must  be  applied, 
composed  of  lake  and  white  copal 
varnish;  and  the  last,  with  a  coat 
composed  of  a  mixture  of  copal 
and  turpentine  varnish  ground  up 
with  lake. 

Blue  Japan. 

The  first  coat  must  be  given 
with  artificial  carbonate  of  barytes 
ground  up  with  oil  varnish  ;  the 
second  with  Prussian  blue,  ground 
in  copal  varnish,  and  finished  as 
before  stated. 

Black  Japan 
is  obtained  by  applying  finelj?- 
levigated  ivory-black  ground  up 
with  linseed  oil  varnish ;  the  second 
coat  must  consist  of  the  same  pig- 
ment ground  up  in  copal  varnish. 
PROCESS  OF  BLEACHING  OLD  B©OKS 

AND       COPPER  -  PLATE       PRINTS 

WHICH     ARE     BECOME     YELLOW 

BY    AGE,    SMOKE,    &,C. 

The  process  now  practised  for 
bleaching  these  articles  is  as  fol- 
lows:— Takeoff  the  binding  of  the 
book,  unsew  the  book  and  separate 
the  leaves,  place  them  in  a  shallow 
leaden  pan,  with  slips  of  common 
window-glass  interposed  between 
them,  so  that  the  leaves  lie  hori- 
zontally without  touching  each 
other.  Or  a  still  better  method  is 
the   following: — Make   a  wooden 


ANECDOTES  OF  COUNT  AHANDA. 


75 


frame  of  about  the  size  of  the  leaves 
to  be  bleached,  and  having  placed 
upon  it  the  slips  of  j^lass,  let  the 
leaves  be  placed  upon  the  glass 
perpendicularly,  about  a  line  dis- 
tant tron»  eacli  other.  This  being 
done,  pour  inlo  the  vessel  ilie 
bleaching  liquid,  which  is  made  by 
dissolving)-  one  nart  by  vveiuht  of 
oxyniurate  of  lime  in  tour  pans  of 
warm  water,  and  snlier  the  articles 


to  be  immersed  in  it  for  twcnty-fonr 
hours:  it  may  then  be  rinsed  in 
soft  water.  By  this  process  the 
[)aper  will  acquire  a  whiteness  su-^ 
perior  to  what  it  originally  possess- 
ed. All  ink-spots,  if  any  were 
present,  will  be  removed  ;  but  oil 
and  grease  spots  are  not  effaced  by 
it.  —  Copper-plate  prints  bleach 
more  easily  than  letter-press. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  AND  ANECDOTES. 

->♦<— 
COUNT  ARANDA. 

This  nobleman  filled,  for  a  con-  I  transpired,  the  plan  must  havemis- 
siderable  time,  the  situation  of  carried,  or  at  least  have  caused 
Spanish  am!>assador  at  the  court  of 
France  during'  the  rei<rn  of  Louis 


some  dangerous  commotions.    The 
count's  address    in   this  aflair  was 
XVI.:  before  he  was  appointed  to  :  much  admired  iu  I' ranee.  A  lo([ua- 


that  s.ituation,  he  had  been  prime 
minister  of  Spain.  He  was  hiii,h!y 
respected  for  his  integrity  ami  un- 
derstanding, but  his  total  want  of 
vivacity,  and  true  Castilian  liici- 
turnity  and  hauteur,  prevented  his 
being  a  favourite  with  the  Pari- 
sians. He  possessed,  however,  all 
the  qualities  necessary  to  consti- 
tute a  good  diplomatist;  and  it 
might  be  said  ot'  him  in  Ids  cha- 
racter of  ambassador,  as  was  said 
of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  "  that  no 
man  ever  played  his  part  better." 
Count  Aranda  was  charged  with 
the  difficult  and  dansrerous  mea- 
sure  of  expelling  the  Je  uits  from 
all  parts  of  the  Spanish  dominions, 
jind  pri-cisely  at  the  same  day  and 
hour  all  tlie  convents  were  shut  up. 
In  order  to  insure  the  success  of 
this  measure,  tlie  most  profound 
secrecy  was  absolutely  necessar}', 
because  the  J  suits  had  friends 
every  where;   and  had  any   thing 


ciuus  pelit-hiail re  one  day  conipli- 
menled  him  upon  it,  and  begged 
particularly  to  know  how  he  ma- 
naged to  transact  the  business 
with  such  perfect  secrecy.  "  One 
means,"  replied  he  gravely,  "  was, 
by  never  speaking  about  it." 

He  had  a  habit  of  ending  his 
phrases  with  these  words,  "  You 
comprehend  me;"  which  sometimes 
produced  a  very  ludicrous  etVcct. 
One  day,  when  he  was  playing  at 
pharo  at  the  Princess  de  Lam- 
ballc's,  the  banker,  tiiinking  that 
he  had  made  a  mistake,  refused  to 
pay  him  a  game  which  he  had  won. 
The  count  suj^ported  his  preten- 
sions for  some  time  with  all  his 
Castilian  /lauleur,  but  finding  tb.e 
banker  continued  obstinate  in  his 
refusal  to  pay  him,  it/.  l\'luibas$a- 
deur,  forgetful  of  his  dignity,  seiz- 
ed the  chandelier  which  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  and  exclaimed 
in  a  great  rage,  "  This  is  a  candle- 


76 


ANECDOTE    OF    M.  DE    BOUGAINVILLE. 


Slick,  you  comprehend  ;  and  I  am 
just  goiMo  to  throw  it  at  your  head, 
you  comprehend  !"  The  banker  did 
comprehend  him  so  perfectly,  that 
he  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  it  was 
with  dilfirulty  that  he  was  per- 
suaded to  return. 

Although  tlie  count  had  accus- 
toiued  liiniself  to   use  this  phrase 


for  years,  he  was  at  last  corrected 
of  it  b}'  a  cutting  joke  of  Madame 
de  Beauveau,  who  placed  it  in  so 
ludicrous  a  liglit,  that  the  count, 
struck  with  the  ridicule  to  which 
he  exposed  himself,  immediately 
made  a  resolution,  to  which  he 
strictly  adhered,  never  to  use  it 
again. 


M.  DE  BOUGAINVILLE. 


This  gentleman  was  one  of  the 
aides-de-camp  to  General  the  Mar- 
quis de  Levis  during  the  war  in 
Canada;  and  at  the  attack  of  Ti- 
conderago  he  was  struck  in  the  heat 
of  the  action  on  the  forehead  by  a 
ball,  which  knocked  him  down. — 
An  officer,  who  saw  him  fall,  ex- 
claimed to  ]\L  lie  Levis,  who  was  at 
a  little  distance,  "  Ah,  my  God, 
poor  Bougainville  is  killed  !"    The 


he  should  intimidate  his  men,  and 
coolly  replied,"  Well,  he  will  be  bu- 
ried to-morrow  with  many  others." 
Theaide-de-camp  was  only  stunned 
by  the  blow,  and  he  heard  distinct- 
ly what  passed ;  his  passion  re- 
stored him  to  speech,  and,  spring- 
ing upon  his  legs,  lie  cried  out  in  a 
reproachful  tone,  "  It  seems,  ge- 
neral, that  you  would  be  easily 
consoled  for  my  death  ;  but,  how- 
ever, I  shall  not  give  you  the  trou- 


general  was  much  attached  to  Bou 

gainville,  but  at  that  tiioment  durst  I  ble  to  bury  me  this  time. 

MOt  give  way  to  his  feelings,  lest 


MISCELLANIES. 

THE  BAZAAR  OF  BEAUTY. 
A   FRIEND  of  mine  enumerated  i  rangue;    and    I    rejoiced    heartily 


to   me  the  other  day,  the  number 
of  Bazaars  wliich  have  been  opened 


when,  at  its  conclusion,  he  fortu- 
j  nately  recollected  an  engagement 


in  all  parts  of  the  town  during  the  \\  which  obliged  him  to  leave  me.     I 

few  last  months:  and  from  thence     waited  only  till  he  was  out  of  the 

I 
he  digressed  to  the  ill  consequences  1  room  before  I  gave  way  to  the  drow 


which  might  result  to  trade  from 
such  a  number  of  cheap  establish- 
ments, all  anxious  no  doubt  to  un- 
dersell the  regular  shopkeeper.  As 
the  subject  is  not  a  very  sprightly- 
one,  and  my  friend's  discourse  is 
rather  of  a  sojiorific  nature  in  ge- 
neral, 1  had  great  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing myself  awake  during  his  ha- 


siness  I  was  oppressed  with,  and  I 
soon  sank  into  a  slumber,  during 
which  I  had  the  following  dream. 

I  fancied  myself  standing  op- 
posite to  a  spacious  building,  over 
the  door  of  which  was  written  in 
large  characters.  Bazaar  of  Beau- 
ty. A  number  of  men  of  all  ages 
and  descriptions  were  pressing  into 


THE    BAZAAR    OF    BF.AUTY. 


77 


the  entrance,  but  I  diJ  not  observe 
a  single  t'enuile  amongst  the  crowd. 
At  tlie  door  stood  a  phiin-looking 
man,  whose  drtss  was  rather  in  the 
Quaker  style,  whom  I  supjDosed  to 
"be  the  porter.  I  perceived  him 
accost  several  as  they  entered,  but 
each  appeared  to  turn  from  him 
with  apparent  disregard :  he  ad- 
vanced towards  me  as  I  approach- 
ed, and  saying,  that  if  my  visit  to 
the  Bazaar  proceeded,  as  he  sup- 
posed it  ilid,  from  an  intention  to 
take  a  wife  from  it,  he  would  attend 
me  through  it,  as  he  could  be  use- 
ful in  advising  me  respecting  the 
purchase  of  any  of  the  lots  set  up 
for  sale.  Having  seen  him  reject- 
ed by  so  niany,  I  was  upon  the 
point  of  refusing  his  oft'er,  but 
upon  looking  clostl}'  at  him,  I  re- 
cognised my  old  friend  Caution^ 
with  whom  I  must  own  I  have  not 
latterly  been  intimate;  and  I  grate- 
fully accepted  his  attendance. 

When  I  entered  the  Bazaar,  I 
saw  that  in  sonie  respects  it  was 
different  from  any  of  the  others 
which  I  had  seen:  the  shops,  in- 
stead of  being  all  of  the  same  size, 
were  some  large  and  others  very 
small ;  but  I  observed  that  they 
were  filled  with  ladies,  some  fan- 
tastically, some  neatly,  and  some 
elegantly  dressed  ;  each  of  whom 
had  a  ticket  round  her  neck,  on 
which,  as  my  guide  informed  me, 
her  price  was  inscribed. 

Perceiving  a  number  of  purchas- 
ers at  a  shop  near  the  door,  I  stop- 
ped to  examine  the  fair  ones  round 
whom  they  were  so  eagerly  crowd- 
ing; and  I  found  their  charms  so 
great,  that  I  was  beginning  to  in- 
quire whether  one  of  the  prettiest 
lots  would  come  within  the  compass 
of  my  purse;  but  I  made  a  hasty 


retreat,  when  Caution  ijinchingmy 
arm,  whispered  me,  that  the  shop 
was  kept  by  Fu//tj. 

My  attention  was  next  attracted 
by  a  grouj)  of  females,  the  singu- 
larity of  whose  dress  and  appear- 
ance excited  the  derision  of  many 
of  the  spectators  ;  in  fact,  the 
greatest  part  of  them  seemed  at- 
tired for  a  masquerade:  one  group 
in  jiarticular  appeared  designed  to 
represent  the  Muses,  only  they  had 
no  Apollo;  and  some  of  the  by- 
standers observed,  that  a  good 
washing  in  the  waters  of  Helicon, 
if  they  were  really  as  pure  as  they 
are  reported,  would  be  of  infinite 
service  to  their  drapery.  Others, 
who  were  not  in  fancy  dresses,  had 
their  cans  awr^-,  their  neckluuui- 
kercliiefs    half   pinned,   and  every 

I  article  of  their  dress  spotted  wiiii 
ink.  I  was  passing  the  shop,  when 
the  mistress   of  it  caught  my  arm, 

I  and  observing  that  I  was  not  like 
those  impcrtinents  who  had  sneer- 

I  ed  at  her  goods,  assured  me,  that 

'  she  had   collected   in  her  shop  the 

[  only  lots  of  any  intrinsic  value  in 
the   Bazaar.     "Look,"    continued 

!  she,  "at  the  shops  of  I'u'/i/  and 
Fashion,  you  see  there  is   noiiiing 

I  solid,  nothing  durable  \u  the  shewy 
trumpery     which     they     exhibit  : 

I  whereas  if  you  purchase  from  nie 
and  my  partner,  you  lay  out  your 
money  to  advantage,  for  your 
wife's  perfections  will  augment  in- 
stead of  decaying  with  age  ;  every 
year  will  render  the  beauties  of 
her  mind  more  striking." 

As  I  perceived  her  harangue  was 
not  likely  to  terminate,  I  walked 
away  at  this  period  of  it,  and  Cau- 
tion, w  ho  was  still  at  my  elbow,  told 
me  Pedantri/ a.nd  Conceit  were  jaiu 
proprietors  of  that  sh.op. 


78 


THE    BAZAAR   OF    BEAUTY. 


I  now  turned  to  another,  over 
which  was  written  in  large  charac- 
ters GREAT  BAHGAINS,  and  I  ob- 
served attentively  several  pretty 
faces  with  which  I  might  have  been 
charmedj  but  there  was  a  stupidity 
in  the  look  of  some,  an  awkward- 
ness in  the  air  of  others,  and  a 
total  want  of  expression  in  tlie 
countenances  of  all.  "You  had 
better  pass  on,"  said  Caution,'^  there 
is  nothing  here  will  suit  you;  this 
shop  is  kept  by  Ignorance.^'' 

A  little  farther  on,  I  perceived 
a  shop  even  more  crowded  by  pur- 
chasers than  that  of  Follij,  though 
the  goods,  which  by  the  bye  were 
ticketed  at  a  still  higher  rate,  were 
much  less  beautiful:  I  observed 
that  they  were  decked  out  in  the 
most  studied  and  fantastic  manner; 
and  upon  casting  my  eyes  upon 
the  mistress  of  the  shop,  I  knew 
at  first  glance  that  I  beheld  Fasliion. 
Regardless  of  the  wliispers  of  Cau- 
tion, who  tried  much  to  draw  me 
away,  I  examined  several  lots,  with- 
out, I  must  own,  being  particular- 
ly^ pleased  with  any  of  them,  though 
1  saw  them  purchased  at  a  most 
extravagant  rate  before  my  face 
I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  ad- 
dress with  which  Fashion,  who  was 
incontestibly  the  best  shopkeeper 
in  the  place,  puffed  off  her  goods  ; 
and  I  observed,  that  each  wiio  pur- 
chased from  her  seemed  certain 
that  his  bargain  was  better  than 
his  neighbour's.  Perceiving  me 
looking  attentively  at  a  young  lady 
whose  appearance  was  rather  strik- 
ing, tliough  her  features  were  not 
beautiful,  "There,"  cried  Fashion, 
addressing  me,  "  tliere  is  a  lot 
worth  any  money  1  Observe  what 
a  fine  air  of  the  head,  what  taste  in 
dress,  what  skill  in  attitudes !" — "  1 


cannot  appreciate  these  perfec- 
tions," cried  I,  "  for  they  are  things 
in  which  I  have  no  judgment;"  but 
there  is  sometlnng  very  pleasing  in 
her  countenance,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  to  purchase  her,  provided  you 
will  warrant  her  possessed  of  those 
qualities  necessary  to  form  a  good 
wife.  I  was  beginning  to  enumerate 
thequalitiesi  expected, but  Fashion 
interrupted  me  with  a  contemp- 
tuous sneer.  "I  perceive,  friend," 
cried  she,  "  that  you  know  nothing 
of  the  usages  of  polite  life,  or  else 
you  would  never  expect  to  find 
such  obsolete  articles  in  my  shop: 
they  may  suit  the  poor  or  the  mean- 
spirited,  but  my  customers  are  of 
avery  differentdescription,  I  assure 
3'ou."  At  this  moment  a  dashing 
young  beau  began  to  inquire  about 
the  lot  in  question,  and  Fashion 
immediately  turned  to  him  with  a 
ver}-  courteous  air.  My  pride  was 
so  much  piqued  by  the  mean  opi- 
nion which  she  seemed  to  have 
formed  of  me,  that  I  was  just  going 
to  prove  its  fallacy  by  anticipating 
him  in  the  purchase  which  he  seem- 
ed inclined  to  make,  when  Caution, 
who  saw  my  danger,  caught  my 
arm  and  dragged  me  forcibly  from 
the  spot.  I  began  to  remonstrate, 
but  Caution  paid  no  attention  to 
me,  nor  did  he  loose  his  hold  till 
we  reached  a  shop  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  Bazaar.  I  was  much 
pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the 
shopkeeper,  an  elderl}-  matron,  at- 
tired in  a  sober-coloured  stuff,  made 
in  a  manner  very  suitable  to  her 
years.  "You  may  safely  venture 
to  purchase  at  this  shop,"  whisper- 
ed Caution ;  "  it  is  kept  by  Pru- 
clence.^^ 

I  was  so  charmed  with  the  modest 
propriety  both  of  dress  and  man- 


THE    FASHIONABLE   MATCH-MAKER. 


79 


Jier  of  those  fair  ones  in  the  shop  of 
Prudence, that  I  instantly  addressed 
myself  to  the  matron,  and  expressed 
my  wish  to  purcliase  a  wife  from 
her  stock.  "  I  perceive,"  re[)lied 
she  with  a  smile,  "  that  you  are  not 
aware  of  the  manner  in  which  I 
carry  on  m}'  business.  I  take  no 
money,  my  trade  being  conducted 
solely  by  way  of  exchange :  let  me 
hear  the  qualities  you  require  in  a 
wife,  and  perhaps  we  may  agree." 
— "  Sweetness  of  temper,  a  plain 
understanding  well  cultivated,  and 
a  good  heart,"  cried  I,  "  are  in- 
dispensable ;  and  I  could  wish  also 
that  my  wife  should  possess  an 
agreeable,  if  not  a  beautiful  per- 
son." Prudence  paused  a  moment. 
**  I  can  suit  you  exactly,"  cried 
she,  "  provided  you  convince  me 
that  you  are  possessed   of  sound 


sense,  good  principles,  and  a  cheer- 
ful liberal  disposition  ;  satisfy  nie 
that  you  possess  these  qualities, 
and  1  am  ready  to  make  over  to  you 
the  most  valuable  lot  in  my  shop." 
As  she  spoke,  she  took  the  hand  of 
one  of  the  young  ladies,  wtioseback 
was  to  me,  and  turning  her  round, 
I  save,  with  equal  delight  and  sur- 
prise, that  it  was  my  dear  Maria 

S .     My  joy  was  so  great  that 

I  uttered  a  loud  exclamation,  which 
instantly  awoke  me,  and  my  dream 
being  fresh  in  my  memor}-,  I  com- 
mitted it  to  paper.  Should  you 
not  deem  it  unworthy  your  notice, 
you  will,  by  giving  it  a  place  in 
your  instructive  and  elegant  pub- 
lication, oblige  your  constant  read- 
er and  humble  servant, 

PeUEGIUNE  PLAIxNWAY. 


)IR,- 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 

-Your  ready  insertion  of  my  moral  tale  of  The  Forsaken  Fair,  in  the 
fourth  number  of  your  very  elegant  Miscellany,  has  induced  me  to  trouble  you 
once  more:  and  should  the  toUowiiiff  trifle,  founded  on  facts,  claim  an  inimeiliate 
insertion,  I  may  peihaps  uilrude  on  you  frequently  in  a  similar  maimer,  continuing 
to  make  the  moral  subservient  to  mere  entertainment,  and  drawing  my  inciilents 
and  deductions  from  natural  life.     I  remain  yours,  wiUi  respect,  John. 

THE  FASHIONABLE  MATCH-MAKER: 

A    TALE. 

If  the  importance  which  we  at-     were  planted  in  youth  by  the  in- 

'  discretion  of  mothers,  and  that  the 
misery  of  after-life  arises  from  a 
want   of    caution,   or    activity,   in 

i  watching  over  the  days  of  child- 

i  hood. 

I  Lady  Lindermere  was  the  most 
agreeable  woman   imac;inable  in  a 


tach  to  the  female  character  is  to 
be  created  and  fostered  by  parental 
care,  what  have  we  not  to  fear, 
when  we  see  that  character  con- 
demned to  the  superintendence  of 
a  parent,  who  is  not  only  careless 
in  performing  the  great  duties  she 
is  called  on  to  perform,  but  per- 
sisting  in  plans  built   upon    false 


party;  she  shed  universal  joy  over 
the    drawing-room    whenever   she 


theories,  which  must  ultimately  ruin  !j  appeared,  for  her  manners  were 
the  object  wliuse  welfare  she  erro-  ||  elegant  and  prepossessing.  Her 
neously  imagines  herself  to  be  |i  strongest  passion  was  a  desire  to 
promoting  ?  Too  frequently  we  1  jilease  all  the  world  :  thus  she  sub- 
find,  that  the  errors  of  maturity  '  stituted  politeness  for  goodness  of 
Fol.  //.  No.  Fill.  ii  M 


80 


THE    FASHIONABLE    MATCH-MAKER. 


heart;  but  the  veil  that  covered 
her  true  motives  was  of  so  impene- 
trable a  texture,  that  not  only  the 
young  and  inconsiderate  were 
made  to  believe  that  she  took  a 
lively  interest  in  all  tiieir  pleasures 
and  pains,  but  niaturer  age  often 
sought,  in  treating  her  with  confi- 
dence, a  participation  in  troubles, 
if  not  exertions  to  relieve  them. 
Yetallthis  ladylikedemeanour,  this 
smile  of  complaisance,  and  the  tear 
of  benevolence  which  seemed  so 
highly  to  adorn  her,  not  always 
accompanied  her  ladyship  in  pri- 
vacy: there  were  moments  when 
oflFended  consequence  struggled 
for  mastery ;  there  were  moments 
when  that  character  of  benevolence, 
which  she  had  striven  for  years  to 
maintain,  was  almost  unveiled; 
when  some  imaginary  injury,  and 
a  wish  to  be  revenged  for  some 
supposed  affront,  had  nearly,  and 
not  unfrequently,  betrayed  a  heart 
cold  as  marble,  except  to  its  own 
interest,  and  threatened  to  give 
the  lie  to  those  professions  which 
her  tongue  was  so  constantly  re- 
peating. These,  however,  were 
generally  dissipated  through  the 
medium  of  taunts  and  reflections 
on  her  woman,  who  was  paid  to 
bear  them  in  silence;  and  as  no 
man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet,  so,  if 
Mrs.  Torpor,  her  ladyship's  maid, 
might  be  believed,  Lady  Linder- 
luere  in  her  dressing-room,  and 
Lady  Lindermere  in  the  drawing- 
room,  were  two  very  different  per- 
sons; but  nobody  saw  her  ladyship 
under  the  hands  of  her  'tire-wo- 
man, and  we  all  believe  that  alone 
which  is  most  evident  to  our  senses. 
Her  dignity  had.  as  yet,  inter- 
fered to  save  her  from  comuiitting 
actions  unworthy  of  a  lady,  except 


in  little  affairs  beneath  the  notice 
of  the  historian;  and  she  actually 
revelled  iu  the  good  graces  of  those 
to  whom  blandishment  and  scandal 
are  dearer  than  truth,  when,  at 
length,  she  beheld  two  daughters 
in  full  maturity,  bred  nearly  under 
her  eye,  who  had  now  for  some 
time  been  introduced  into  life.  It 
was  indeed  high  time  that  they,  in 
her  opinion,  should  have  been  so- 
licited to  confine  themselves  in  the 
silken,  or  rather  in  the  no  bands  of 
fashionable  wedlock,  by  some  bril- 
liant suitors,  likely  to  add  to  the 
dignity  of  the  house  of  Lindermere, 
and  crown  all  her  ladyship's  theo- 
ries by  a  result  favourable  to  her 
hopes  and  wi-hes.  It  is  the  curse 
of  foolish  parents  to  have  their 
dearest  wishes  crossed  and  their 
fairest  schemes  overthrown  by  th.e 
frowardness  of  their  children.  The 
celebrated  Lord  Cliesterfield  wrote 
maxims  for  a  son  who  proved  in- 
sensible to  their  value ;  Oliver 
Cromwell  (jained  a  crown  for  one 
whose  only  deliglit  was  to  enjoy  a 
quiet  and  innocent  life  in  scenes  of 
nature  and  privacy  ;  and  Lady  Lin- 
dermere's  system  of  tactics  was 
thrown  away  on  daughters  unwor- 
thy of  her  care.  There  are  some 
mothers  that  we  could  mention,  in 
the  sphere  of  fashion,  who  cannot 
bear  the  existence  of  a  rival  even 
in  the  persons  of  their  own  daugh- 
ters: if  these  unnatural  feelings 
ever  gained  entrance  into  the  breast 
of  Lad}'  Lindermere,  they  had 
long  since  subsided.  Neither  Do- 
rinda  nor  Juliana  attempted  the 
least  rivalry,  for  they  rather  ap- 
peared in  the  suite  of  their  mother, 
than  came  forward  as  first-rate  cha- 
racters. 

Whether  Fortune  and  the  Graces 


TIIR    FASHIONABLE    MATCIl-MAKKU. 


81 


chose  to  exhaust  their  whole  stock 
of  favour  o!i  the  mother,  or  whether 
the  daughters  wore  horn  under  an 
unlucky  planet,  is  not  known,  hut 
the  Miss  Lindernicres  had  passed 
the  a>;e  of  thirty,  apparently  as  un- 
aiuhiiious  of  notice  as  they  were 
unattractive,  or  rather  not  particu- 
larh/  attractive.     1'he  first  masters 
were  obtained    for   the  culture   of 
their  minds,  and  the  most  fashion-  I 
al)le  milliners    for  the  adornment 
of  their  persons.     But  what  did  all 
this  waste  of   talent   on   the  Miss 
Lindermcres    prove?    That    mind  i 
has  not  yet  arrived  at  a  state  of| 
perfection  ;   that   we    cannot   sfain 
taste    by    inoculation,    or    impart 
elc'^ance  by  theory.     They  drew,  ! 
they    played,    they    waltzed,    and  i 
sung  ;  they  painted  velvet,  gabbled 
French,  and  drawled  Italian;  but; 
they   did    all   this   no    better  than  i 
twenty   otlier    young    ladies;    and  i 
their  mother,   no  less  unfortunate  I 
than  the  celebrated  characters  just 
quoted,  found  she  had  sown  seed 
on  a  barren  soil,  and  if  her  dauffh- 
ters    were    accomplished     in    her  j 
eyes,  she  was  never  blessed  to  hear 
the  unaffected  burst  of  applause,  ■; 
*'  How  beautifully   Miss    Dorinda 
paints  !"  or  "  How  sweet  are  the 
notes  of  Juliana's  voice!"    Praises, j 
of  their  talents  she  did  indeed  hear,  ^ 
praises    expressed    in   the   highest 
stvle  of  poetical  rapture,  but  pass- 
ed  in    so   base   a  coin,  ti^it    Lady 
Lindermere    well     discerned    the  j 
quantity  of  alloy  with  which  it  was  J 
mixed;  for  she  had  herself  passed  ! 
oti'  much    better,   stamped   with  a 
greater    appearance    of    intrinsic  ^ 
value.  I 

It  appears  to  he  the  summum  bo- 
imm  of  the  year  1816,  that  every 
lady  should  be  married  ;  not  that 


I  your  daughter  should  be  happy,  but 
that  matrimony,  the  gilded   pill  of 
matrimony,  siiould  be  swallo\\(:d  by 
all    parties,   whether    the   fates  or 
I  destinies  will  it  or  not.     For  this 
are  the  same  faces  sent  every  year 
to    Margate,    to    liarrowgate,    to 
\  Cheltenhau),    or    Brighton  ;    from 
\  thence  to  Eastern  climes,  till  In- 
dia's overstocked  market  can  take 
no  more  victims.     Is  then  the  name 
of  old-maid  so  very  abhorrent,  or 
rather  are  the  character,  the  feel- 
ings, and  destination  of  an  unmar- 
I  ried  woman  so  very  wretched,  that 
our  dau<>;hters  must  rush  into  the 
arms  of  monied  licentiousness,  or 
chuse   a  protector  in   avarice  and 
age?      Lady    Lindermere   thouglit 
a  state  of   singleness   not  that  of 
blessedness  :   although,  like  many 
others,    her  state  of  wedlock  was 
not  passed  on  a  bed  of  roses,  yet 
the  whole  artillery  of  her  blandish- 
ments was  employed  for  her  daugh- 
ters' settlement  in  lii'e;  for  this  she 
attempted    every    young    man    of 
fashion  whom  she  sat  down  to  be- 
siege,  and   although  she  was  fre- 
quently obliged  to  raise  it,  yet,  on 
the  appearance  of  another  object, 
again    wouUi    she    return    to    the 
cliaroe,  nor  leave  the  fieid  till  all 
hopes  of  a  blockade  were  exhaust- 
ed.   Do  such  mothers  as  Lady  Lin- 
dermere imagine,  that  young  men 
are  quite  blind;  and  do  they  not 
know,   that   human   nature,   impa- 
tient of  controul,  rejects  even  be- 
nefits thrust  upon  it  ?    No,  with  all 
their  worldly  knowledge,  they  are 
not  aware  of  the  effect  of  this  con- 
duct in  themselves,  or  they  would 
not  pursue  a  course   which  frus- 
trates the  very  ends  they  propose 
to  accomplish. 

(To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 
M  -2 


82 


HUMANITY  REWARDED. 


Sophia  Egerton  was  the  only  i 
child  of  a  wealthy  merchant,  whose 
disposition  was  extremely  parsi- 
monious. He  did  every  thing  in 
his  power,  hut  without  effect,  to 
repress  the  generous  spirit  of  his 
daughter,  who  even  from  her  child- 
ish days  gave  proof  that  she  pos- 
sessed a  most  benevolent  heart. 
Sophia,  who  loved  and  respected 
her  father,  regulated  her  own  per- 
sonal expenses  with  the  strictest 
econom}',  in  order  to  please  him  ; 
but  the  greatest  part  of  the  little 
allowance  which  he  made  her,  she 
devoted  to  the  relief  of  the  poor. 

One  morning,  when  Sophia  was 
about  the  age  of  fourteen,  as  she 
was  walkins:  with  her  maid  in  Ca- 
vendish-square,  she  saw  a  boy,  ap- 
parently something  younger  than 
herself,  leaning  against  the  outside 
of  the  railing,  and  weeping  bitter- 
ly.    "  What  ails  you  ?"  asked  she 
in    a  compassionate  tone. — "  No-  | 
thing,  ma'am,"  answered  the  boy 
in    a    strong    Hibernian     accent, 
"  only  I  can't  get  a  place;  and  1 
have  eaten   nothing   since  yester- 
day."    Sophia   gave   him  a  trifle, 
and  on  questioning  him,  found  that 
he  was  an  orphan  :  his  father,  who 
was  an  Irish  peasant,  had  come  to 
London  in  hopes  of  gaining  a.  bet- 
ter livelihood   by  his   labour  than 
he  could  at  home,  and  on  his  death, 
which   had   happened   only  a  few 
weeks  before,  the  people  where  he 
lodged  had  kept  the  boy,  in  hopes 
of  getting  hiu)  a  place  as  errand- 
hoy  to  a  shopkeeper,  but  not  suc- 
ceeding, they  became  tired  of  sup- 
porting   him,    and    finally   turned 
him  out  of  doors.    This  artless  tale 


made  its  way  at  once  to  the  heart 
of  Sophia.  "  There  can  be  no  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  you  an  errand- 
boy's  place,  I  think,"  cried  she; 
"  have  you  inquired  for  one.'*" — 
"  Myself  has  been  after  plinti/y 
ma'am,"  replied  Bryan  Delaney, 
for  so  the  boy  was  called,  "  but 
they  all  said  I  was  fit  for  nothing.'* 
— "  But  you  can  do  something, 
can't  you  ?"  asked  Sophia,  doubt- 
ingly. 

"  Ogh,  to  be  sure  I  can,  plinty 
of  things  ;  I  can  dig  prateesy  cut 
turf,  and  I've  a  pretty  notion  of 
tatchiiig  a  cabin." 

"  But  can't  you  do  any  thing  to 
make  yourself  useful  here  ?  To  get 
a  place  as  errand-boy,  you  must 
know  the  town." 

"  And  so  I  do;  I  know  the  town 
very  well,  but  I  can't  find  my  way 
through  the  streets." 

Sophia's  hopes  began  to  sink 
very  fast.  "  Can  you  read  and 
write?"  cried  she. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  only  in  reading 
I'm  obliged  to  spell  all  the  big 
words ;  but  I  can  write  well  enough, 
only  I  can't  shape  the  letters." 

Sophia's  maid,  who  had  listened 
attentively  to  the  conversation, 
now  whispered  her  young  lady  to 
come  away,  for  that  the  boy  was 
either  mad  or  a  rogue.  Miss  Eger- 
ton was  of  a  very  different  opi- 
nion ;  she  wished  to  assist  him,  but 
she  knew  not  how  to  go  about  it ; 
her  pocket-money  was  so  trifling, 
that  even  the  whole  of  it  would 
scarcely  keep  him  from  starving ; 
and  she  saw  very  clearly,  that 
some  time  would  probably  elapse 
beforehecouldgeta  service.  Whil^ 


HUMAN'ITY    REWAKDED. 


83 


she  was  thinking  in  what  way  slie 
coiiltl  assist  him,  she  suddenly  re- 
collected that  her  father  had  a  set 


desire,  entrusted  him  in  j)art  with 
the  management  of  the  husincss; 
hut  when,  at  length,  she  expressed 


of  shirts  to  make,vvlMch  were  to  be     a  wish  to  entrust  the  young  Irish- 
given  to  a  work-woman  thenextdav.  I  man  with  her  fair  hand  for  life,  the 
In  live  minutes  she  calculated  that  ,  good  man's  pride  took  the  alarm: 
the  sum  that  would  be  paid  for  the  j  he  remonstrated  very  seriously  on 
set  of  shirts,  would  maintain  Bryan  \  the  ilis;j;race  that  would  accrue  to 
for    some    weeks;   and  she  deter-!  the  family  of  IMnggins  by  her  union 
niined  to  make  them  herself.     She  I  with  a  man  who  had  not  a  shilling, 
did  so,   and  worked  as  assiduously     and  whose  father  had  been  only  a 
at   them  as   if  her  bread   had  de-     potatoe-digger,    while    the    IMng- 
pended   on  the  money  so  earned,     gins's  had  always  been  known  for 
Bryan,  meantime,  was  indefatiga-  {  substantial  people.     Miss  cut  short 
ble  in    seeking  a  situation  ;  and  at  1  his  harangue  by  an  invective  on  his 
length  he  found  one  in  the  family     cruelty;  and   finding  that  this  did 
of  Mr.   Muggins,  an  oilman,  who  ']  not  produce  the  desired  elfect,  she 
overlooked     his    tongue    and    liis  i  had   recourse  to  a   flood  of  tears, 
blunders,    in   consideration   of  his  i  and  a  declaration,  that  if  she  did 
strength,  activity,  and  willingness     not  marry  him  she  should  certainly 
to  make  himself  useful.  i  break  her  heart.     The  fond  father 

Sophia's  solicitude  for  Bryan's  i|  was  not  proof  against  this  attack 
interests  did  not  cease  with  his  I  upon  his  feelings;  lie  embraced 
getting  a  situation  ;  she  frequently  her  tenderly,  and  told  her,  that  ra- 
jnquired  after  him,  and  had  thesa-  |  ther  than  vex  her  be  would  consent 
tisfaction  to  find  that  he  behaved  |  to  whatever  she  pleased ;  and  that 
himself  so  well,  that  in  a  few  years  '  very  evening  he  intimated  to  De- 
his  master  took  him  to  serve  in  the  11  laney  the  preference  with  which 
shop ;  and  when  Sophia,  at  the  age  P  the  lady  honoured  him. 
of  nineteen,  married,  and  quitted  r  Bryan  was  by  no  means  elated 
England  with  her  husband,  Mr.  [jat  this  unexpected  news;  but  he 
Barclaj',  who  was  an  officer  in  the  '  was  extremely  good-natured,  and 
army,  Bryan,  now  grown  a  smart  a  little  pardonable  vanity  persuad- 
liandsome  young  man,  was  still  in  li  ing  him,  that  some  terrible  conse- 
the  service  of  the  oilman.  !  quences  might  result  from  thelady's 

Mr.  Muggins,  who  was  a  widow-  ,  being  crossed  in  her  first  love,  he 
er,  had  an  only  daughter,  nearly  i  lost  no  time  in  paying  his  address- 
ten  years  older  than  our  hero,  of  a  |  es,  and  Miss  Muggins  speedily  be- 
plain  person,  and  a  temper  which  I'  came  Mrs.  Delaney 


rendered  her  the  torment  of  every 
one  around  her,  with  the  exception 
of  Bryan,  on  whom,  from  his  first 
introduction  to  the  fannlv,  she  had 


Thedeathof  Mr.  Muiiyins  twelve 
years  at'tcrwards,  gave  firyan  pos- 
session of  a  considerable  projierty, 
and  as  if  TOriune  was  determined 


cast  an  eve  of  favour.  As  miss  was  I  not  to  do  thitms  bv  halves,  a  lot- 
her  papa's  oracle,  he  complied  with  !  ler}'  ticket,  which  he  purchased 
her  wish  to  take  Bryan  into  the  ''  about  the  same  time,  came  up  a 
shop,  and  soon  afterwards,  at  her  j  prize   of  20,000/.     Mrs.   Delauey 


m 


HUMANITY   REWAHDED. 


now  insisted  on  iiis  giving  up  bu- 
siness, which  he  readily  agreed  to; 
but  he  soon  began,  to  speak  in  his 
own  language,  to  find  out  that  he 
was  very  unfortunate  in  having 
such  good  luck.  His  wife,  whose 
temper,  as  we  have  before  said,  was 
none  of  the  sweetest,  was  not  con- 
tent with  exciting  the  envy  of  all 
her  female  acquaintance  by  the 
elegance  of  her  iiouse,  her  dress, 
and  her  villa  at  Hacknej^,  she  de- 
termined to  soar  at  once  completely 
above  them  all,  by  getting  Bryan 
to  purchase  a  title.  Bryan,  good- 
natured  and  yielding  as  he  natural- 
ly was,  resolutely  resisted  this  de- 
mand. In  vain  did  she  assure  him 
such  a  step  was  proj)er  and  neces- 
sary ;  he  replied,  that  it  might  be 
necessary  for  her  to  be  called  my 
lady,  and  if  half,  or  even  three- 
fourths,  of  what  he  had  would  pur- 
chase a  title  for  her,  she  should 
have  it;  but  nothing  in  the  world 
should  prevail  upon  him  to  be 
knighted  and  made  a  fool  of;  he 
had  too  much  respect  for  his  rela- 
tions to  disturb  them  in  their  quiet 
graves,  and  sure  enough  they  never 
would  rest  asy  if  once  they  knew  of 
his  doing  such  a  thing.  In  spite  of 
tears,  snllenness,  scolding,  and  ca- 
resses, Bryan  persisted  in  this  de- 
termination, though  Mrs.  Delaney 
took  cure  that  his  firmness  should 
cost  him  dear:  her  sudden  death, 
however,  soon  left  him  at  liberty  to 
enjoy  his  fortune  in  his  own  way ; 
and  as  he  had  no  family,  and  was 
of  a  humane  disposition,  his  riches 
were  a  blessincj  to  many. 

As  he  was  sauntering  about  one 
morning,  heobserved  two  girls,  who 
walked  before  him,  look  wishfully 
at  some  fine  strawberries  as  they 
passed  a  fruiterer's  window.  "  Ju- 


lia," said  one  to  the  other,  "  don't 
you  think  mamma  would  like  some 
of  those  strawberries?" — "Yes,  sis- 
ter," answered   Julia,   "  but  I  am 
sure  they  are  too  dear."   The  other 
sigh.ed,    but  made   no   reply,   and 
they  continued  to  walk  on.     They 
were  both  very  young,    but   their 
melancholy  air  proved  they  were 
not  unacquainted  with  misfortune. 
Tlie  good-natured  Bryan  felt  in- 
h  terested  for  them,  and  perhaps  this 
I  interest  was  not  a  little  heightened 
I  by  the  uncommon  beauty  of  Julia, 
j  of  whose  features,  and  even  voice, 
;  he    had    a   confused    recollection. 
I  Without  having  any  settled  pur- 
pose,  he  followed  the  sisters   till 
they  stopped  at  the  private  door  of 
an    ironmonger's   shop,    and   were 
'  admitted.    It  chanced  that  he  knew 
i  the  ironmonger,  and  he  walked  into 
j  the  shop   to  make  some  inquiries 
'  about  those  interesting  girls.    The 
landlady  told  him  her  husband  was 
above  stairs,  but  he  would  be  down 
presently  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  he 
heard  a  voice,  which  he  knew  to  be 
the  ironmonger's,  declare,  in  a  loud 
and  threatening  tone,  that  he  would 
have  his  money,  or  value  for  it,  the 
next  morning;  and  slapping  a  door 
with  a  violence  that  shook  the  house, 
he  stamped   down   stairs,  and  en- 
tered  the  shop  with  a  face  crim- 
soned by  passion. 

On  seeing  Delaney,  Mr.  Grub- 
well  seemed  a  little  ashamed  of  his 
violence,  and  began  to  harangue 
upon  his  misfortunes  in  having  al- 
ways the  luck  of  letting  his  lodg- 
ings to  people  who  never  paid  him. 
"  Here,"  continued  he,  "  this  wo- 
man, with  her  two  daughters,  has 
been  nearly  six  months  in  my 
house,  and  I  never  saw  the  colour 
of  her  money ;  and,  by  the  miser- 


1 1 U  M  A N 1  I  V    11 1:  \N  A  U D  ED . 


83 


able  manner  in  wliitli  thi-y  live,  I 
am  sure  she  is  as  poor  as  a  rat." 

"  More's  ilie  pity,"  said  his  wife, 
*'  if  she  is  poor;  1  am  sure  she  does 
not  deserve  to  be  so." 

"  Don'i  tell  me  of  her  deserts," 
replied  the  brutish  husband  ?  "  what 
hiive  1  to  do  with  her  deserts?  will 
thtv  pay  my  rent  and  taxes,  and 
buy  provision  for  my  family?" 

"Ah  I  many's  the  poor  family 
for  whom  she  has  bou;^ht  provi- 
sion," replied  the  wife:  "I  re- 
member her  when  she  was  Miss 
Ej^erton,  and  a  better  creature " 

"  What's  that  you  say?"  inter- 
rupted Bryan  ;  "  sure  and  it  can 
never  be  my  Miss  E^erton,  Miss 
Sophy,  the  pride  of  the  world,  that 
you  are  talking  about?" 

*'  1  am  talking  of  Miss  Egerton, 
whose  father  was  a  merchant,  and 
lived  in  Edward-street  ;  anil  if  you 
do  know  her,  you  must  know  she 
deserves  nothing  but  kindness  from 
every  body." 

"  And  for  that  reason,"  inter- 
rupted the  surly  husband,  "  she  is 
to  cheat  me  out  of  my  money." 

Bryan's  full  heart  was  beginning 
to  overflow  at  his  eyes,  but  this 
speech  changed  the  current  of  his 
feelings.  "  Ell  tell  you  what,  Mr. 
Grubwell,"  cried  he,  "  there's  one 
thing  due  to  you  from  me,  and  if 
you  say  another  word  like  the  last, 
I  wont  chate  you  out  of  it,  and  that's 
a  good  baiting" 

*'  Beating  !"  cried  the  astonished 
and  enraged  Grubwell,  "  do  you 
come  to  my  shop  to  assault  me,  be- 
cause I  ask  for  my  own  ?  It's  a 
pretty  thing  if  a  man's  to  be  abused 
in  this  here  manner,  in  his  own 
house,  by  a  foreigner,  as  a  body 
may  say  !" 

"  Eoreigner,  indeed!"  said  Bry- 


an. "  Harkce,  Mr.  Grubwell !  Ed 
have  you  take  care  what  you  say, 
or  may  be  Ell  be  after  jirosecuting 
you  for  a  libel  upon  uiy  character 
in  calling  me  a  foreigner,  when 
Em  as  much  of  an  Englishman  as 
yourself,  or  else  what  was  the  use 
of  the  union?  But  it's  a  burninjr 
shame  for  me  to  stand  here  wasting 
my  time  in  talking  to  such  a  spal- 
peen as  yourself,  rvA/;/  I  ought  to  be 
j)aying  my  duty  to  my  benefactress, 
who  will  soon  discharge  your  dirty 
bit  of  a  bill  out  of  10,000/.  which 
she  has  in  my  hands." 

These  words  reni'ered  Mr.  Grub- 
well as  al)ject  as  he  had  before  been 
insolent;  but  Bryan,  without  no- 
ticing his  servile  apologies,  sent  to 
beg  a  few  minutes  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Barclay. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  paint 
the  interview  between  the  grateful 
Bryan  and  his  benefactress ;  suffice 
it  to  say,  tliat  the  warm-hearted 
Iri>hman  wished  to  j)av  his  debt  of 
gratitude  a  thousand  fold  ;  and  So- 
phia, who  had  no  false  pride,  con- 
sented to  accept  pecuniary  assist- 
ance from  him,  though  not  to  the 
amount  he  wished.  Her  distress 
arose  from  a  fraudulent  claim  which 
had  been  set  up  to  some  landed 
property  purchased  by  her  father, 
and  bequeathed  by  him  to  her. 
The  extravagance  of  her  husband, 
who  had  been  dead  for  some  time, 
had  rendered  her  unable  to  procure 
legal  redress,  and,  involved  as  she 
believed  in  certain  and  hopeless 
poverty,  she  was  upon  tlie  brink  of 
despair,  when  Heaven  sent  the  ob- 
ject of  her  former  charit)'  to  her 
assistance.  As  she  was  assured  that 
nothing  but  want  of  money  had 
prevented  the  recovery  of  lier  pro- 
perty, she  commenced  her  suit  with 


86 


DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED. 


vigour.  She  gained  it ;  and  great 
as  was  the  transport  she  felt  on  se- 
curing to  her  children  an  ample 
provision,  it  scarcely  equalled  that 


of  Bryan,  when  Sophia,  presenting 
to  him  her  two  charming  girls,  bade 
them  thank  the  worthy  man  to  whose 
gratitude  they  owed  every  thing. 


THE  DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM 
TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED: 

A     STORY     FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 

Bi/  Augustus  von  Kotzebue. 

When  I  was  at  B  *  *  *,  I  took  a  I  person  and  thesweetestdisposition, 
walk  one  morning  in  the  park,  j!  than  to  Fortune,  who  had  been 
accompanied  by  a  friend.  We  j  more  sparing  of  her  favours.  Long 
chanced  to  pass  a  summer-house,     did  his  heart  waver  between  Emily 


in  which  were  seated  two  young 
and  beautiful  females,  the  one  in 
deep  mourning,  with  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes,  the  other  in  morn- 
ing negligee,  drawing  figures  upon 
the  sand  with  the  point  of  her  pa- 
rasol. Neither  of  them  observed 
us.  "  Do  you  know  those  ladies?" 
said  I  to  my  friend. — "  O,  yes!" 
he  replied;  "  she  in  mourning  is 

the  widow  of  Captain  B ,  and 

the  other  is  the  Countess  of  S . 

They  have  been  iriends  from  their 
childhood,  but  affliction  has  now 
united  them  more  closely  than 
ever."  My  curiosity  was  excited  ; 
we  sat  down  upon  a  bencii,  and  he 
related  what  follows: — • 

pmily  and  Laura  were  educated 
together.  They  were  of  the  same 
rank  and  age,  and  both  equally 
amiable.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween them  consisted  in  Emily's 
wealth  and  Laura's  poverty.  Both, 
however,  were  rich  in  qualities  of 
the  mind  and  heart,  and  in  due 
time  both  attracted  admirers. 

Among  other  young  men  who 
were  introduced  to  their  notice,  was 
Captain  B .  He  was  more  in- 
debted to  the  kindness  of  Nature, 
who  had   given   him  a   handsome 


and  Laura,  but  at  length  fixed  upon 
the  former.  Possibly  he  might  not 
himself  have  been  able  to  account 
for  this  choice;  but  those  who  were 
acquainted  with  him,  well  knew 
that  self-interest  was  not  the  mo- 
tive. 

This  feeling,  however,  operated 
the  more  strongly  on  Emily's  fa- 
ther; for  though  his  daughter  was 
really  attached  to  the  captain,  yet 
she  was  so  incessantly  lectured  on 
the  subject  of  filial  obedience  and 
submission  to  the  will  of  parents, 
that  the  gentle  creature  at  length 
yielded,  and  promised  to  stifle  the 
growing  passion.  To  second  this 
resolution  as  much  as  possible,  her 
father  sent  her  to  a  distant  country 
seat,  where  she  languished  a  whole 
year  in  solitary  seclusion.  Her 
flowers,  her  pigeons,  and  her  cor- 
respondence with  Laura,  were  her 
sole  amusements.  Her  father  al- 
lowed her  to  read  no  novels,  and  he 
acted  wisely,  as  she  would  other- 
wise have  scarcely  succeeded  so 
well  in  banishing  the  captain  from 
her  thoughts.  In  her  own  letters, 
as  well  as  in  those  of  her  friend,  his 
name  was  likewise  interdicted,  as 
they  passed  through  her  father's 


DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FKOM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATE 


.D.  87 


hands  ;  and  as  tliey  came  from  a 
country  infected  with  the  pesti- 
ience  of  love,  he  never  failed  to 
open  them  iirst,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve Laura  from  the  contagion. 

Though  Emily  had  quitted  the 
town,  still  the  number  of  her  ad- 
mirers did  not  decline,  for  her  for- 
tune was  left  behind.  She  resem- 
bled the  invisible  deity  of  the 
Athenians,  on  whose  altars  the 
votaries  offered  sacrilice  without 
knowing  how  he  looked.  Many, 
indeed,  wished  for  an  opportunity 
of  becoming  personally  acquaint- 
ed with  her;  and  those  who  knew 
her  were  anxious  to  see  her  again  : 
but  a  consideral)le  time  elapsed 
before  her  father  would  consent  to 
gratify  these  desires. 

At    length    young   S made 

liis  appearance.  He  was  a  rich 
count,  who  hail  seen  the  great  Piti 
— I  mean  the  diamond  known  by 
that  name — had  dined  with  Ver- 
gennes,  and  been  blown  up  with 
one  of  the  floatin":  batteries  at 
Gibraltar;  in  other  respects  a  to- 
lerably good  sort  of  a  man,  who 
was  fond  of  his  poodle,  and  settled 
an  annuity  on  his  superannuated 
tutor.  He  occasionally  read  books, 
and  always  took  the  tone  from  the 
last  he  had  perused.  This  young 
man  presented  himself  as  a  suitor 
to  Emily,  or  rather  to  Emily's  fa- 
ther, who  could  not  resist  his 
charms,  and  appointed  a  rendez- 
vous in  the  country.  The  fair 
Emily  was  just  feeding  her  pigeons 
when  a  fine  carriage  drove  up  to 
the  door;  a  fine  gentleman  ste|)ped 
out  of  it,  and  said  many  line  things 
to  her.  Her  father,  at  the  same 
time,  gave  her  to  understand,  that 
this  was  the  knight  who  was  come 

t'ol.  If.    ^o.  I  111. 


to  deliver  the  captive  princess  fri;m 
the  enchanted  castle.  Now  let  a 
young  lady  be  ever  so  fond  of 
her  pigeons,  it  is  ten  to  one  that 
she  is  much  fonder  of  liberty.  It 
is  therefore  no  wonder,  especially 
as  the  count  was  agreeable  enough, 
and  as  Emily  was  anxious  to  be 
delivered  from  her  dungeon,  that 
in  afew  weeksshesignified  her  com- 
])liance  with  her  father's  wishes. 
After  the  honey-moon,  the  young 
count  found  a  residence  in  the 
country  rather  dnll;  the  countess 
agreed  with  him  ;  the  steeds  were 
harnessed,  and  away  they  drove  to 
town. 

Laura  was  sincerely  rejoiced  v> 
see  her  friend  again,  and  Captain 

B the   very    reverse;    for    no 

sooner  had  he  succeeded  in  ba- 
nishing Emily's  image  from  h.is 
heart,  than  her  sudden  reaj)pfcar- 
ance  tiireatened  to  replace  it  there 
in  glowing  Cwiours.  He  met  En)ily 
in  company,  bowed  respectfully, 
and  turned  pale:  Emiiy  courtesied 
low,  and  blushed.  Tlie  captain 
stanniiered  forth  a  congratulation 
uhich  nobody  understood,  and 
Emily  an  answer  which  nobody 
heard.  "What  is  to  be  done?" 
thought  the  captain,  on  his  return 
home  at  night;  "  shall  I  torment 
myself  to  no  purpose?  or  shall  I 
strive  to  seduce  the  count's  young 
wife?  Neither  the  one  nor  the 
other.  I  will  look  out  for  some 
other  female,  who  shall  make  the 
world,  if  not  a  paradise,  at  least  to- 
lerable to  me.  The  sweet  Iruits  of 
Hymen  are  not  brought  to  maturi- 
ty only  in  the  hot-house  of  love, 
they  oTow  also  in  the  shade  of  rea- 
son. Nor  have  1  far  to  look  ;  hap- 
piness is  generally  nearer  to  \\i 
N 


S8 


DANCER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED. 


than  we  imagine.  Laura  is  an  ami- 
able creature,  domestic  and  unaf- 
fected.    I  will  marry  Laura." 

With  this  resolution  he  closed 
his  eyes,  atid  with  this  resolution 
he  awoke.  "  I  love  you  dearly," 
said  he  the  next  evening  to  Laura, 
"  can  you  love  me  r"  Laura  had 
long  loved  him,  though  she  had 
concealed  her  passion  :  she  had 
now  no  longer  any  cause  to  dis- 
semble, and  in  less  than  a  month 
they  were  man  and  wife.  They 
were  happy  too,  though  no  maid- 
ens dressed  in  white  strewed  flow- 
ers at  their  wedding  ;  and  as  the 
dispositions  of  both  were  naturally 
amiable,  happy  they  continued  to 
be  till  the  demon  of  jealousy  in- 
terfered to  disturb  their  happiness. 

It  was  perfectly  natural  that 
the  captain  should  not  be  able  to 
view  Emily  with  total  indifference  ; 
and  it  was  equally  natural  that 
Emily  should  still  feel  some  inter- 
est for  the  captain.  He  saw  in  her 
a  charming  woman,  who,  but  for 
her  father's  prohibition,  would 
have  been  his  wife:  she  beheld  in 
him  an  amiable  man,  whose  first 
love  she  had  been,  and — as  her 
vanity  whispered — perhaps  still 
was.  Neither  ever  indulged  in  the 
most  distant  hint  at  their  former 
situation,  but  he  spoke  with  more 
shiness  to  her  than  to  any  other 
woman  ;  and  she  answered  him 
with  greater  embarrassment  than 
any  other  man. 

Their  behaviour  did  not  escape 
the  notice  of  the  young  count,  in 
whom  it  excited  considerable  un- 
easiness. As  he  had  just  been 
reading  a  novel,  in  which  a  sensi- 
ble husband  had  by  a  generous 
confidence  prevented  his  wife  from 
tiishoiiouring    herself,    he    deter- 


mined to  conceal  his  disquietude, 
and  even  pretended  to  be  pleased 
when  Emily  paid  frequent  visits  to 
Laura.  "  Why  don't  you  go  to 
see  Laura  ?"  he  would  sometimes 
say.  "  'Tis  a  long  time  since  you 
visited  her.  It  is  my  wish  that  you 
should  not  neglect  your  friend." 
This  was  the  first  white  lie  (as  it  is 
commonly  called)  that  paved  the 
way  to  the  subsequent  catastrophe. 

The  strange  behaviour  of  her 
husband  and  her  friend  had  equal- 
ly forced  itself  upon  Laura's  no- 
tice, and  had  given  her  no  less  un- 
easiness. She  was  ashamed,  how- 
ever, to  confess  it  to  either.  The 
captain,  indeed,  once  asked,  in  a 
moment  of  confidence,  "Are  you 
inclined  to  be  jealous  ?"  and  she  re- 
plied with  a  laugh, *'0, no!" — This 
was  the  second  untruth  on  which  the 
demon  of  mischief  built  his  plan. 

The  winter  passed  pretty  qui- 
etly. The  fire  glowed  under  the 
ashes.  One  day  in  the  following 
spring,  the  young  count  was  in- 
vited to  a  party  of  pleasure  in  the 
country.  The  person  who  gave  the 
invitation  was  a  bachelor,  an  inve- 
terate enemy  to  the  sex  even  in 
spring,  and  whose  convivial  parties 
therefore  consisted  entirely  of  men. 
The  count  was  not  to  return  till 
the  next  morning.  Emily  was  left 
at  home  a  prey  to  emiui.  In  this 
situation  she  received  a  message 
from  Laura,  who  sent  her  word  that 
her  husband  would  be  on  duty  that 
night,  that  he  would  not  return 
home  till  towards  morning,  and 
therefore  she  would  be  glad  if 
Emily  would  spend  the  evening 
with  her.  Emily  rejoiced  in  the 
prospect  of  passing  a  few  hours 
agreeably,  and  complied.  Her 
bookseller  had  just  sent  her   the 


DANGER  OF  THR  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED, 


89 


first  two  volumes  of  one  of  the 
most  interesting  novels  that  had 
appeared  for  many  years.  These 
she  took  with  her  to  her  friend's, 
and  on  her  arrival  there  sent  home 
her  carriasre.  The  ladies  diverted 
themselves  in  the  most  innocent 
manner,  and  after  supper  Emily 
proposed  to  read  for  half  an  hour 
longer.  Half  an  hour  was  pro- 
longed to  an  hour,  and  one  hour  to 
two.  The  book  became  more  fas- 
cinating tlie  farther  she  proceed- 
ed ;  Emily  forgot  to  send  for  her 
carriage;  and  it  was  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  when  the  captain 
returned,  and  found  her  still  en- 
gaged in  reading. 

The  ladies  were  frightened 
when  they  heard  how  late  it  was. 
Emily  snatched  up  her  gloves  and 
shawl,  requested  her  friend  to  send 
for  a  hackney-coach,  and  hurried 
away.  The  captain,  of  course, 
handed  her  to  it ;  and  what  was 
perfectly  natural,  requested  per- 
mission to  attend  her  home,  as  he 
could  not  think  of  suffering  her  to 
go  alone.  She  declined  his  offer, 
but  he  persisted.  Emily  became 
embarrassed.  "  If,"  thought  she, 
"I  accept  his  company,  I  shall  be, 
for  the  length  of  four  or  five  streets, 
in  the  most  painful  situation,  alone 
with  a  man  who  (loth  as  I  am  to 
confess  it)  is  not  wholly  indifferent 
to  me.  Should  I  refuse,  he  may 
perhaps  fancy  that  I  am  afraid  of 
him."  This  last  consideration  re- 
volted her  pride,  her  pride  over- 
came her  fears,  and  she  consented. 
Laura  was  thrilled  by  a  most 
unpleasant  sensation.  Her  hus- 
band alone  with  Emily!  the  way 
not  short !  the  morning  fine!  She 
turned  away,  and  strove  to  conceal 
the   pangs  of  jealousy  under  the 


disguise  of  affected  carelessness. 
"  Make  haste,  and  begone!"  cried 
she  yawning,  "  I  can  scarcely  keep 
my  eyes  open  :  and  as  for  you,  my 
dear,"  added  she,  addressing  the 
captain,  "  don't  disturb  me  when 
you  come  home,  for  I  shall  cer- 
tainly be  aslee[j."  This  was  the 
third  white  lie,  for  she  had  never 
felt  less  disposed  to  sleep  than  at 
this  moment.  She  was  ashamed  of 
her  jealousy,  and  false  shame  is 
ever  accompanied  by  her  sister 
Untruth. 

Emily  and  the  captain  were  pre- 
sently seated  in  the  coach.  It  had 
long  been  broad  Jciv-light:  the 
sun  rose  in  cloudless  .>p!e;idour, 
and  gilded  the  tops  of  the  diuich- 
steeples;  the  cocks  crew;  the  hair- 
dressers began  to  run  about  the 
streets,  and  here  and  there  a  shop- 
door  opened.  Emily  was  desirous 
of  bringing  forward  some  indiffer- 
ent subject  for  conversation  ;  she 
therefore  said  the  first  tiling  that 
came  into  her  head,  and  this  was  the 
fourth  white  lie.  "  What  a  charm- 
ing morning!"  exclaimed  she;  "I 
should  prefer  a  ride  in  the  park  to 
going  home." — "  You  have  only  to 
command,"  replied  the  captain,  un- 
conscious of  any  improper  feeling : 
"  coachman,  drive  to  the  park  !" 

Emily  was  frightened.  She  had 
no  serious  wish  to  gad  about 
the  park.  Again,  should  any  one 
see  lier,  at  that  early  hour,  alone 
with  the  captain,  what  would  peo- 
ple think  of  her  ?  She  fortunately 
devised  a  method  of  extricating 
herself  from  this  new  embarrass- 
ment. "  Hard  by,"  said  she,  "  lives 
my  cousin,  who  is  fond  of  morning 
rides-,  we  will  call  for  her,  and  take 
her  with  us."— "By  all  means,"  re- 
plied the  captain.  The  coachman 
N  2 


90  DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED. 


was  ordered  to  drive  to  the  cousin's, 
and  in  two  minutes  they  were  at 
the  door. 

After  long  knocking  and  ring- 
ing, a  servant  at  length  made  his 
appearance,  and  informed  them, 
yawning,  that  his  mistress  was  not 
yet  stirring.  "  Slie  must  be  roused 
then,"  said  Emily.  "  Allow  me,  cap- 
tain, to  leave  you  for  a  moment. 
I'll  go  up  to  her  myself."  Alighting 
from  the  coach,  away  she  tripped 
up  stairs,  burst  into  her  cousin's 
chamber,  and  hastily  drew  her  cur- 
tains. "  Dear  cousin,"  said  she, 
"  you  must  come  and  take  a  ride 
immediately.     I  have  left  Captain 

B below  in  the  coach  ;  I  can't 

get  rid  of  him  ;  he  insists  on  ac- 
companying me,  and  I  should  not 
like  to  be  seen  alone  with  him. 
Make  haste!  dress  yourself,  and 
come  along  with  us  !"  Her  poor 
cousin,  however,  having  taken  a 
violent  cold,  peremptorily  refused. 
^'  Rather  stay  with  me  to  breakfast," 
said  she,  "  and  let  the  captain  re- 
turn home." — "  Any  thing  in  the 
world,"  rejoined  Emily, "  to  escape 
bis  troublesome  politeness."  She 
accordingl}'  sent  down  a  message, 
excusing  herself  from  going  any- 
farther,  on  account  of  her  cousin's 
cold,  and  requested  the  captain  to 
let  the  coach  take  him  home. 

The  captain  preferred  walking. 
He  alighted.  "  If  I  go  home," 
thought  he,  "  I  shall  only  disturb 
my  wife;  the  idea  of  a  ramble  in 
the  park  this  delicious  morning  is 
too  good  to  be  lost,  and  I  will  ex- 
ecute it  alone."  He  accordingly 
strolled  to  tlie  park,  where  he 
sauntered  up  one  alley  and  down 
another. 

Emily    staid    scarcely    half    an 


hour  at  her  cousin's.      •'  By  this 
time,"  thought  she,  throwing  her- 
self into  the  carriage  of  the  latter, 
"  the  captain  is  snug  in  his  bed. 
The   morning  is   truly  charming; 
the  sun   has  dried  up  the  dew;  I 
feel  no  inclination   to  sleep,   and 
will  take  a  walk  in  earnest."  In  ten 
minutes  she   actually    alighted   in 
the  park,  and  in  the  eleventh  she 
met  the  captain.     She  was  alarmed 
and    perplexed    beyond    measure 
upon  discovering  him.     She  could 
not  with  decency  avoid  him,  as  he 
had  already  perceived  her.     What 
would  he  think  in  that  case?  Why, 
either  that  she  despised  or  feared 
him!  The  first  her  heart  forbade, 
the  second  her  pride.     Like  a  fe- 
1  male  familiar  with  the  tone  of  the 
great  world,  she  mustered  all  her 
self-command,  and  went  up  to  him 
laughing.  "  Women  are  capricious 
creatures,  captain,  an't  they?  One 
moment  they   will,    and   the  next 
they   won't.     Ask  not,   therefore, 
how  I  happen  to  be  here  just  now  ? 
I  can   assign   no  other  reason  but 
my  whim.     Fate  seems  to  have  de- 
creed  that  we  should   spend   this 
morning  together,  so  lend  me  your 
arm." 

With  affected  nonchalance,  and 
conversing  with  feigned  cheerful- 
ness on  the  most  ordinary  topics, 
she  walked  up  and  down  with  him 
for  about  half  an  hour.  The  sky 
then  began  to  be  overcast,  and 
Emily  gladly  seized  this  pretext 
for  relieving  herself  from  the  op- 
pressive constraint  of  her  situation. 
"  Kemember  me  to  your  wife,"  said 
slie,  sprung  into  the  carriage,  and 
hastened  home.  4 

(To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


91 


DESCRIPTION  OF  SIR   HUMPHRY  DAVY'S  LAMP  FOR 

PRKVKNTING  EXPLOSIONS  L\   COAL-MINES, 

yliid  ijxpcriincitt  made  wil/i  it  bi/  Dr.  IIami:l,  uf  .Si.  Pclersburrr. 


Thehk  are  Few  of  our  readers, 
we  |.n"esuiue,  whose  feelings  have 
not  been  shocked  by  the  accounts 
of  the  destructive  effects  occasion- 
ed hy  llu'ex[)losi()i)  of  iiitlauMiiablc 
air  in  (•oai-niiM..'S,  by  which,  m  ilie 
northt  rn  part  of  the  kingdom  aK)nc, 
several  hundreds  of  valuable  lives 
have  been  sacrificed  within  these 
fevv^ears.  It  was  natural  that  men 
of  science  should  direct  their  stu- 
dies to  the  nunins  of  preventing 
such  accidents:  several  ingenious 
inventions  were  olVtred  to  tlie  at- 
tention of  miners  ;  l)ut  none  of  those 
hitherto  produced  has  been  found 
to  combine  the  grand  requisites, 
safety  and  convenience,  in  an  equal 
degree  with  the  lamp  invented  by 
Sir  Humphry  Davy. 

In  the  course  of  a  long  and  la- 
borious investigation  of  the  pro- 
perties of  the  fire- damp,  and  the  na- 
ture and  communication  of  fian)e, 
Sir  Humphry  ascertained,  that  the 
explosions  of  inflammable  gases 
were  incapable  of  being  passed 
through  long  narrow  metallic  tubes; 
and  that  this  principle  of  security 
was  still  obtained  by  diminishing 


The  apertures  in  the  gauze 
should  not  be  more  than  ^'^  of  a 
square  inch.  As  the  fire-damp  it 
not  inHanud  by  ignited  wire,  the 
thickness  of  the  wire  is  not  of  im- 
|)ortance,  but  wire  from  ^  to  ^  of 
an  inch  in  diameter  is  most  con- 
venient. If  wire  of  ^V  is  found  to 
wear  out  too  boon  in  practice,  the 
thickness  may  be  increased  to  any 
extent;  but  the  thicker  the  wire, 
the  more  the  light  will  be  inter- 
cepted, for  the  size  of  the  aper- 
tures must  nc^er  be  more  than  ^'^ 
of  an  inch  square. 

Iron  wire  and  brass  wire-ganze 
of  the  required  degree  of  fineness 
are  made  for  sieves  by  all  wire- 
workers;  but  iron  wire-gauze  is  to 
be  preferred.  When  of  the  pro- 
per degree  of  thickness,  it  can 
neither  melt  nor  burn  ;  and  the  coat 
of  black  rust,  which  soon  forms 
upon  it  superficially,  defends  the 
interior  from  the  action  of  the  air. 
The  gauze  cage,  or  cylinder,  for 
inclosing  the  flame  of  the  lamp, 
should  bo  made  by  double  join- 
ings, the  gauze  being  folded  over 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  leave  no 
their  length  and  diameter  at  the  jj  apertures.  A\'hen  it  is  cylindrical, 
same  time,  and  likewise  diminish-  li  it  should   not   be   more   than    two 


ing   their    length   and    increasing 
their  number,  so  that  a  great  num-  ' 
ber  of  small  apertures  would  not  j 
pass  explosion,  when  their  depth 
was  equal  to  their  diameter.    This  [ 
first  led  him  to  trials  upon  sieves  , 
made  of  wire-gauze,   or  metallic 
plates    perforated  with    numerous  j 
^mall  holes,  and  h.e  found  that  it  ! 
>vas  impossible  to  pass  explosions 
t^irpugh  theui. 


inches  in  diameter;  for  in  larger 
cylinders,  the  combustion  of  fire- 
damp renders  the  top  inconvenient- 
ly hot,  and  a  double  top  is  alwavs  a 
proper  precaution,  fixed  at  the  dis- 
tance of  one-half  or  three-quarters 
of  an  imh  above  the  first  top.  The 
gauze  cylinder  slwuld  be  fastened 
to  the  lamp  by  a  screw  of  four  or 
five  turns,  and  fitted  to  the  screw 
by  a  tight  ring.     All  joinings  in 


92 


LAMP   FOR   PREVENTING    EXPLOSIONS   IN    COAL-MINES. 


the  lamp  should  he  made  of  hard 
solder;  and  the  security  depends 
on  the  circumstance,  that  no  aper- 
ture couuuunicating  with  the  ex- 
ternal air  exists  in  the  apparatus 
larger  than  in  the  wire-gauze. 

Such  of  our  readers  as  are  desi- 
rous of  ohtaining  a  more  accurate 
notion  of  the  structure  of  this  in- 
genious contrivance,  are  referred 
to  Mr.  Newman,,  of  Lisle-street, 
London,  by  whom  lamps  of  this 
kind  are  made.  It  is  obvious,  that 
their  principle  is  of  much  more  ex- 
tensive application  than  the  pur- 
pose for  which  these  instruments 
were  originally  designed.  The 
safe-lamps  will  prevent  accidents 
in  gas-manufactories,  spirit-manu- 
factories, and  warehouses,  and  in 
all  places  where  gaseous  inflamma- 
ble matter  is  likely  to  be  disengag- 
ed ;  and  for  the  common  purposes 
of  light,  they  will  always  prevent 
danger  from  sparks  as  well  as 
flame. 

To  this  description  we  subjoin 
an  account  of  an  experiment  made 
with  one  of  these  lamps  in  a  coal- 
pit, by  Dr.  Hamel,  of  St.  Peters- 
burg:— Some  time  ago,  says  he,  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  trying  Sir 
Humphry  Davy's  lamp  in  a  coal-  j 
mine  near  Holywell,  in  Flintshire,  j 
I  descended  (along  with  Messrs.  ! 
William  and  Edward  Roscoe)  the 
pit  of  Deehank  colliery,  140  yards 
deep,  and  then  proceeded  horizon- 
tally in  one  of  the  metal  drifts, 
where  in  one  place  the  inflamma- 
ble gas  was  bubbling  with  consi- 
derable force  through  the  water 
covering  the  bottom  of  the  mine. 
The  ventilation  here  beinjr  so  com- 
plete  as  to  prevent  any  danger 
from  explosion,  I  kindled  the  gas 
with  a  common  candle.     It  conti- 


nued burning  with  a  fiame  about  a 
foot  and  half  long.  Sir  Humphry 
Davy's  lamp,  held  in  the  same  cur- 
rent, would  not  set  fire  to  it.  We 
now  went  to  a  place  near  the  end 
of  the  working,  where,  in  the  roof 
of  the  mine,  there  is  a  considerable 
excavation  constantly  filled  with 
carburetted  hydrogen,  issuing  from 
a  fissure  in  the  roof  on  that  spot. 
Holding  the  safety-lamp  in  the 
lower  part  of  this  excavation,  where 
the  inflammable  air  is  always  mix- 
ed with  atmospheric  air,  a  succes- 
sion of  slight  explosions  took  place 
in  the  inside  of  the  lamp ;  but  when 
raised  into  purer  inflammable  gas, 
the  whole  of  the  cylinder  was  filled 
with  a  faint  bluish  flame,  through 
which  that  of  the  wick  was  distinct- 
ly visible.  On  lifting  it  still  higher 
into  the  purest  carburetted  hydro- 
gen, the  lamp  was  put  out,  but  re- 
kindled spontaneously  when  in- 
stantly withdrawn  into  atmosphe- 
ric air. 

Having  convinced  myself  that 
the  lamp  would  not  set  fire  to  the 
gas  (and  having  been  breathing  the 
same  for  some  time,  to  try  its  ef- 
fects when  taken  into  the  lungs), 
we  approached  it  with  a  common 
candle  tied  to  a  long  stick.  The 
gas  took  fire  with  considerable  ex- 
plosion, the  lowermost  stratum  be- 
ing mixed  with  atmospheric  air, 
and  the  remainder  continued  burn- 
ing for  nearly  half  a  minute,  filling 
three-quarters  of  the  mine  with  an 
undulating  blaze.  The  appearance 
was  awfnl,  and  gave  me  some  no- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  those 
unfortunate  persons  perished  who 
met  with  their  death  from  accidents 
of  this  kind. 

The  lamp  with  which  we  made 
the  experiment,  had  a  cylinder  of 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


gs 


brass  wire-gauze.  It  had  become 
very  hot  during  our  trials  with  it; 
and,  I  think,  the  flame  was  greener 
than  is  common  to  carburetted  hy- 
drogen from  coal-mines.  I  shouUl 
suppose  brass  or  copper  wire  would 
not  stand  so  long  as  iron  wire- 
gauze.  Mr.  Buddie  writes  me, 
*'  that  he  has  had  several  lamps 
with  //o/i-gauze  cylinders  for  three 
months  in  daily  use,  without  being 
in  the  slightest  degree  impaired, 
although  they  have  been  frequent- 
ly red-hot  for  a  considerable  length 
of  time."  The  chief  doubts  remain- 
ing in  my  mind  with  regard  to  the 
complete  safety  of  the  lamp,  were, 
that  the  particles  of  coal,  which 
generally  fly  about  where  the  men 
are  working,  might  stick  in  the 
meshes  of  the  gauze,  and  by  giv- 


ing out  a  flame,  might  kindle  the 
gas.  I  had  an  idea,  that  by  putting 
over  the  gauze  cylinder  a  second 
one  of  glass  or  gauze,  this  danger 
might  be  avoided  ;  but  on  mention- 
ing my  doubts  to  Sir  Humphr^^ 
Davy,  lie  shewed  me  some  experi- 
ments in  the  laboratory  of  the 
Royal  Institution,  by  which  it  ap- 
peared, that  coal-dust,  even  when 
laid  on  the  top  of  the  lamp  and 
becoming  red-hot,  or  when  blown 
through  the  gauze  cylinder,  would 
not  inflame  the  surrounding  gas. 
Sir  Humphry  Davy's  discovery  of 
theproperty  of  wire-gauze  is  great; 
it  has  rendered  philosophy  tri- 
umphant over  an  evil,  that  had  long 
baffled  the  united  efforts  of  the 
man  of  science  and  the  philanthro- 
pist. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  VIII. 

S«'e  liow  the  world  its  veterans  rewards'. 

A  yoiitli  <)t  t'lolif,  an  old  ;ige  of  cards; 

Fair  to  liO  purpose,  faillit'iil  to  no  end, 

Yomis  without  lovtrs,  old  without  a  friend; 

A  fop  llieir  passion,  but  their  prize  a  sot ; 

Alive  ridiculous,  and  dead  forgot.— ^PoPE,  epist.  ii. 


I  SOME  time  since  received  the 
following  question  in  the  following 
way:— 

TO  THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

Madam, 

"  What  is  an  accomplished 
woman,  according  to  the  general 
acceptation  annexed  to  the  ex- 
pression r" 

I  could  wish  that  you  would  not 
only  answer  me  on  this  point,  but 
enlarge  a  little  upon  the  subject 
in  the  way  that  your  experience, 
knowledge  of  the  world,  and  in- 
sight into  the  female  character,  so 
eminently  qualify  you  to  do.  If, 
however,  in  the  course  of  your  next 


two  or  three  numbers  you  do  nofe 
comply   with    my   request,    I   will 
trouble  you  with  a  few  of  my  own 
opinions  on  this  interesting  topic. 
I  was  myself  a  darling   daughter, 
and  educated  with  all  the  care,  as 
well  as  gratified  with  all  the  indul- 
gence, which  fondness  and  fortune 
could  bestow:    I  have  since  been 
I  a  wife,  on  whom  a  husband,  I  may 
'  say  themost  tender  husb:ind,  dotcil. 
.  I  am  now  a  widowed  mother,  with 
i  all  the  fearful  hopes  and  anxious 
'  cares  which  two  female   children, 
!  and  I  have  no  other,  can  excite  in 
a  maternal  bosons.     One  of  th.em 
has  advanced  a  few  paces  in  her 


04 


THE   FEMALE   TATTLER. 


teens,  and  the  other  has  just  en- 
tered into  them.  The  duties  I  owe 
to  these  beings,  and  the  diflicukies 
vvhicli  the  world  throws  in  my  way 
while  I  am  endeavouring  to  dis- 
charge them,  are  the  subject  of  my 
constant  thoughts  and  my  daily 
exertions.  I  would  rather  receive 
instructions  from  you  ;  but  if  you 
chuse  to  withhold  them,  I  sludl 
crave  your  attention  to,  and  your 
opinion  of,  the  principles  on  which 
I  instruct  myself.  In  short,  to  my 
own  answer  to  my  own  question, 
with  which,  under  the  circunj- 
stances  I  have  mentioned,  I  shall, 
in  the  time  which  I  have  specified, 
intrude  upon  you.  Your  obliged, 
humble  servant, 

Serapihna. 

My  readers  will  not  expect,  1 
presume,  that  I  should  by  any  ob- 
servations deprive  myself  of  the  ad- 
vantage which  these  papers  would 
probably  receive  from  such  a  cor- 
respondent: I  therefore  waited  till 
sl)e  was  disposed  to  perform  her 
promise;  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  has  thought  proper  to  fulfil  it 
has  fully  justified  my  expectation, 
and  will  not,  I  presume,  disappoint 
any  other. 

TO  THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

Since,  madam,  you  have  refused 
to  answer  my  question,  I  proceed, 
without  apology,  to  make  my  own 
responses  to  it.  The  fact  is,  tliat 
the  question  which  I  put  to  you 
was,  in  the  very  words  of  it,  a  ques- 
tion which  my  eldest  girl  address- 
ee! to  me;  and  the  answer  which  I 
gave  to  her  is,  as  to  the  substance, 
if  not  precisely  as  to  the  expres- 
sion, the  same  v/hich  I  gave  to  her  : 
perhaps  you  will  hereafter  do  her 
the  service  to  enlarge  upon  it  for 
my  great  satisfaction,  as  well  as  her 


further   instruction   and  improve- 
ment. 

"  iVJy  dear  Eliza, 

"  To  dress,  to  dance,  to 
sing,  to  play,  and  to  be  engaged  in 
a  round  of  what  are  called  fashion- 
able |)ursuits,  is  the  principal  ob- 
ject of  too  large  a  portion  of  the 
young  women  who  possess  tiie  dis- 
tinction of  rank  and  fortune.  I 
appreciate,  as  they  deserve,  those 
ornamental  acquisitions,  which  are 
the  deligiit  of  society,  and  enliven 
the  pleasures  of  retirement.  A 
genius  for  music  or  drawing  should 
be  cultivated,  but  as  the  amuse- 
meuts,  and  not  the  business,  of  life; 
because  it  should  be  considered, 
that  all  the  pleasure  which  harmo- 
ny can  afford  to  the  ear,  or  paint- 
ing to  the  eye,  will  add  but  little  to 
the  furtherance  of  domestic  duty, 
or  the  fulfilling  the  moreimportant 
concerns  of  life.  If  time,  instead 
of  being  occasionally  enlivened  by 
such  pursuits,  is  wholly  dedicated 
to  them,  how  is  it  possible  that  you 
can  fix  those  principles  which  are 
to  regulate  your  conduct?  or  how 
will  you  acquire  those  more  solid 
qualities,  which  are  to  be  the  real 
and  durable  ornaments  of  social 
life? 

"  A  disposition  at  once  mild, 
patient,  gentle,  and  unassuming,  I 
consider  as  the  ^rst  accomp/is/imeut, 
because  it  is  the  most  necessary 
for  jour  own  peace,  and  the  com- 
fort of  those  with  whom  your  lot  is 
cast;  nor  is  a  well  regulated  tem- 
per, that  charm  of  the  human,  and 
more  particularly  of  the  female 
character,  so  easily  obtained,  or  so 
easily  preserved,  as  too  many  are 
apt  to  imagine :  for  the  softness 
which  is  given  by  nature  will,  if  it 
is  not  strengthened  by  thought  and 


THE    TEMALt:    TATTLER. 


95 


reflection,  too  often  degenerate 
into  insipidity.  On  the  other  hand, 
to  avoid  tlie  pertness  of  manner 
which  frequently  assumes  the  name 
of  vivacity,  the  same  application 
must  be  made  to  the  higlier  powers 
of  the  mind  ;  they  must  he  called  to 
expand  beyond  the  glittering  tri- 
fles of  the  day,  and  check  the  in- 
fluence of  self-love,  which  is  so 
apt  to  prevent  you  from  contem- 
plating the  excellencies  of  others, 
and,  which  is  the  happiest  conse- 
quence of  such  a  review,  of  endea- 
vouring to  imitate  them.  On  the 
point  of  accompHshnieiits,  therefore, 
it  should  be  considered,  that  to 
dazzle  by  exterior  qualifications  is 
far  less  desirable  tlian  to  delight  by 
solid  virtues;  and  that  elegant  at- 
tainments are  only  valuable  when 
they  are  the  ornaments  of  an  ac- 
complished, that  is,  of  a  well  in- 
structed, mind. 

"  With  respect  to  books,  1  can- 
not but  wish  that  your  reading 
should  be  more  extensive  than  is 
in  general  thought  suitable  to  wo- 
men. It  should  be  on  those  sub- 
jects which  appeal  to  the  h.cad  as 
well  as  the  heart;  sucIj  as  give  ele- 
vation of  sentiment,  without  learl- 
ing  to  abstruse  and  learned  disqui- 
sition. Natural  and  civil  history 
will  never  fail  in  proving  to  reflect- 
ing minds  the  subjects  of  agree- 
able and  useful  study.  She  must 
surely  be  lost  to  a  just  sense  of 
what  is  beautiful,  who  has  no  de- 
sire for  that  knowledge  which  un- 
folds the  charms  of  nature  in  all 
its  varieties,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
displays  the  wonders  of  creation. 
A  general  notion  of  what  has  pass- 
ed, and  may  be  passing,  in  the 
world,  which  history  affords,  is  a 
necessary  branch    of  knowledge  : 

f'oi.  II.  No.  nil. 


when  confinedin  rcasonablebounds, 
and  to  general  topics,  it  is  an  uc- 
c(mi})/is-/tmeiit  which  at  once  adorns, 
improves,  and  enlarges  the  mind. 
Poetry  is  too  certain  a  source  of 
deliglit  to  be  forgotten  ;  but  the 
Muses  are  ladies  whose  familiarity 
is  to  be  sought  with  a  selecting  care, 
and  under  the  auspices  of  taste 
and  virtue. 

"  To  consider  an  attention  to 
economy  and  domestic  concerns  as 
an  accomplishment,  might  call  forth 
a  sneer  from  those  wlio  bask  in  the 
meridian  of  fashionable  life;  but 
a  liberal  and  gradual  introduction 
to  such  objects  are  essential  lo  the 
future  comfort  of  those  who  are 
to  become  wives,  and  motiiers,  and 
friends. 

"  A  truly  aiVeniunate  liusband, 
however  he  may  be  delighted  with 
the  decorations  of  taste  and  ele- 
gance as  they  adorn  the  person, 
or  tlie  more  sl\owy  acquisitions  of 
the  mind,  will  have  reason  to  be 
disappointed,  if  the  wife  uhorn  he 
has  chosen,  refuses  to  accommo- 
date herself  to  those  domestic  con- 
cerns which  are  submitted  to  her 
superintending  care.  But  nothing 
is  more  evident,  tlian  that  the  use- 
ful and  elegant  qualities  of  the  fe- 
male character  are  naturally  cal- 
culated to  harmonize  with,  to  sup- 
port and  set  o{f  each  other.  Ac- 
compiishmcnrs  give  a  certain  glow 
and  pleasing  colour  to  the  most 
simple  acts  of  douiestic  duty;  while 
a  proper  and  I'ccnniing  attention 
to  the  latter,  operating  in  some 
degree  on  the  former,  gives  them 
a  sort  of  solid  character,  which  in 
themselves  tl.oy  cannot  be  said  to 
nossess.  \\'liat  is  called  taste,  a 
loveof  elegance  and  a  disposition  to 
refinement,  will  too  often  serve  but 
O 


96 


THE    FEMALE   TATTLER. 


to  lead  into  extravagance  and  dissi- 
patioii,  unless  corrected  by  that 
love  of"  home,  which  must  spring 
from  the  knowledge  of  its  comforts 
and  the  discharge  of  its  cares. 

"An  introduction  into  public  life 
is  generally  deemed  necessary  to 
form  the  manners;  and  it  certainly 
ivill  teach  an  artificial  polish,  a  ha- 
bit of  fashionable  ceremony,  which 
niay  fit  you  for  the  transitory  hours 
of  dissipation;  but  the  politeness 
which  never  varies,  and  the  man- 
ners which  are  uniformly  pleasing, 
are  only  to  be  learned  from  prin- 
ciples rightly  formed,  and  a  heart 
open  to  the  impressions  of  social  af- 
fection. The  good-breeding  which 
is  inspired  by  good  temper,  is  not 
dependant  on  any  particular  socie- 
ty; and  she  who  is  so  fortunate  as 
to  possess  it,  will  be  as  delicate  in 
her  attentions  in  the  circle  of  pri- 
vate friendship,  as  if  the  whole 
world  were  witness  of  her  actions. 

"With  respect  to  dress,  that  te- 
dious study,  which  engrosses  so 
large  a  portion  of  female  attention, 
let  it  be  remembered,  that  fine 
clothes  add  nothing  to  real  beauty  ; 
while  they  render  the  defects  of  a 
plain  person  more  conspicuous. 
Besides,  an  observance  of  every 
fantastical  fashion  will  lead  to  va- 
nity and  extravagance,  which  must 
be  gratified  at  the  expence  of  ge- 
nerosity and  benevolence.  The 
appearance  which  other  people 
make  is  not  to  be  entirely  the  stand- 
ard of  your  own  :  if  they  chuse  to 
be  extravagant,  and  dress  in  a  man- 
ner that  is  not  suitable  to  their  sta- 
tion in  life,  there  is  no  reason  that 
you  should  follow  their  example. 

"  In  considering  manners,  or  that 
exterior  behaviour  v.'hich  is  neces- 
sary  in    general    society,  what  is 


more  offensive  in  the  eye  of  reason, 
than  levity,  pertness,  and  assurance? 
while  dignity,  grace,  and  mildness 
are  the  most  attractive  charms  of 
woman. 

"It  cannot,  I  fear,  be  denied, 
that  there  is  a  freedom  of  manners 
prevalent,  in  our  day,  in  female 
society,  which  would  have  been 
considered  in  the  days  of  our  grand- 
mothers, as  little  sliort  of  a  disdain 
of  genuine  modesty,  nearly,  if  not 
altogether,  approaching  to  a  viola- 
tion of  character.  Is  it  to  be  won- 
dered, therefore,  that  when  women 
loosen  the  ties  of  decorum,  men 
should  relax  in  their  respect  to 
them  ?  and  ought  we  to  be  surpris- 
ed, when  they  bring  into  our  com- 
pany the  manners,  conversation, 
and  familiarity  of  their  own  socie- 
ty, instead  of  those  obliging  atten- 
tions, amiable  reserve,  and  chaste 
behaviour,  which  is  best  suited  to 
ours  ? 

"VrMien,  however,  on  our  part, 
no  indignant  frowns  testify  a  dis- 
pleasure of  such  manners,  when 
no  modest  blush  speaks  the  purity 
of  the  female  mind,  men  are  not 
to  be  inconsiderately  condemned 
for  improper  conduct.  Let  me  ask, 
is  not  the  fault  too  much  our  own? 
and  must  it  not  be  the  reformation 
in  our  manners  which  can  alone 
restore  that  true  good  breeding, 
which  is  so  opposite  to  the  fashion- 
able ease,  or  rather  impudent  fa- 
miliarity, for  it  well  deserves  the 
name,  of  the  times  in  which  we 
live?  Be  it,  however,  your  part, 
my  dear  child,  whatever  singula- 
rity may  be  attached  to  it,  to  suffer 
your  principles  to  govern  your  ac- 
tions: do  not,  I  beseech  you,  let 
the  contagion  of  bad  example  in- 
fluence even  your  exterior  appegr? 


SOME    PARTICULARS    OF    THE    BATTLE    OF    WATCIlLOO. 


97 


ance,  much  less  alVect  your  luari- 
nersand  conversation.  But,  above 
all  things,  guard  the  principles  of" 
virtue,  of  honour,  and,  wiiich  in- 
cludes them  both,  of  religion,  from 
being  contaminated  by  the  bian- 
dislunents  of  dubious  pleasures  and 
prevailing  dissipation:  lor  if  you 
once  sacrifice  tliese  genuine  accom- 
plishmeiits  of  the  mind  and  of  the 
heart,  to  those  of  tlie  fashionable 
world,  what  a  risk  yon  will  run  of 
losing  all  claim  to  real  happiness, 
of  contaniinatingall  purity  of  mind, 
and  passing  your  life  m  a  degra- 
dation of  character,  or  amidst  the 
mortifications  of  repentance!" 

Have   I  fiiliilled   n)v   i^romisc  to 
your  satisfaction?     I  trusi,  nay  I 


am    confident,    that  you    will    not 
flatter  me. 

Skkapiiina. 
Madairiy 

Be  assured  that  I  flatter  you 
not,  when  I  reply,  that  you  liave 
inlfilled  your  promised  task  very 
much  to  the  honour  of  your  u[i- 
derstanding  and  your  heart.  Nor 
do  I  entertain  tlie  least  apprehen- 
sion, that  the  delusions  of  the  world 
will  contaminate  those  who  are 
brought  up  under  suchcareasyours, 
and  who  have  continually  before 
their  eyes  suc;h  an  example,  as  I 
uuist  presnn)e,  yon  offer  to  tlicir 
uuily  contemplation. 

The  Female  Tattlek. 


SOME  PAIITICULARS  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO, 

IN    A    LETTER    FROM    A    SERJEANT   IN    THE    GUARDS. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 

Sir, The  inclosed  letter,  which   has  been  piiviitcly  circulated,  contains  so 

many  interesting'  pariiculais  relative  to  that  sanguinary  conllict,  which  decided  the 
fin;d  downt'al  of  the  enemv  of  God  and  man,  and  lellecls  so  much  credit  on  the 
writer  as  a  soldier  and  a  Christian,  that  1  have  no  iloubt  of  its  proving  acceptable  to 


the  readers  of  your  elegant  Miscellany. 

Camp,  Bois  dii  Tjo!o«:nc,   Paris, 
Oyil)  July,  IS15. 


I  am,  &c. 


J.  B. 


Sir, — My  departure  from  Eng- 
land was  very  sudden  :  I  had  not 
the  happiness  of  seeing  you;  but 
I  received  yonr  kind  note,  which, 


the  Lord  says,  "Boast  not  thyself 
of  to-morrow,  and  put  not  confi- 
dence in  uncertain  riches;  but  trust 
thou  in  the  living  God."  Yet, 
amidst  all  the  sufl'erings  of  my 
mind  in   parting  from  my  friends, 


amidst  the  suiFerings  of  my  mind,  ,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  go  in  search 
in  parting  from  a  beloved  wife  and  |[  of  that  enemy  of  peace,  the  Tyrant 
very  dear  children,  helped  to  re- 'l  of  the  World  ;  and,  if  it  were  re- 


vive me.  I  can  truly  say,  I  never 
so  much  regretted  a  separation  from 
my  wife  and  family,  and  God's 
church  and  people.  After  havinsj 
been   so  long   absent  in    Holland, 


quired,  to  die  in  the  cause;  for  I 
was  fully  sensible  we  were  defend- 
ing truth  and  justice.  Our  object 
was  Europe's  peace  and  happiness; 
and  I  was  confident  that  God  had 


Sicily, Spain,  and  France,  I  thouglit ;  only  permitted  the  evil  to  bring 
Europe  was  weary  of  war,  and  that  ;  about  a  greater  blessing,  which  I 
I  was  safe  and  comfortably  situat-  ;  hopeis  nearlyaccomplished, though 
ed  with  my  family  at  home;  but  '  it  has  cost  much  blood.     While  we 

O  -2 


SOME   PARTICULARS    OF   THE    BATTLE    OF   WATERLOO. 


lay  at  Ilovis,  near  Kn^liien,  in  tlse 
Netherlands,  I  opened  a  place  for 
our  religious  duties,  where  ni-.-nx' 
found  it  their  priviletre  to  attend. 
It  was  tolerably  well  filled.  Al- 
thougii,  when  in  close  contest  with 
tlie  enemy,  we  are  obliged  to  de- 
sist from  our  public  meetings,  on 
account  of  our  duties;  yet,  we 
then,  as  often  as  possible,  com- 
uuine  with  each  other;  and  I  am 
happy  to  say,  that  only  one  of  our 
society  was  killed  (Serjeant  Silver, 
third  regiment  of  Guards,)  and 
three  wounded  ;  two  are  doing  well ; 
the  other  1  have  not  yet  heard  of. 
Serjeant-Major  Dixon*  and  Ser- 
jeant Rippon,  wounded  on  the  16th 
June,  are  both  doing  well. 

On  the  Ibth  June  we  marched  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  dis- 
tance of  about  twenty-four  miles, ! 
and  then  rushed  into  action.  The 
Lord  gave  us  great  strengt'i,  both 
of  body  and  mind,  on  that  day, 
and  through  the  whole  of  our  la- 
bours. We  arrived  Justin  time, 
or  tlie  enemy  would  have  forced 
the  Belgians.  With  one  liour  and 
a  I'.aU's  hard  fighting,  we  main- 
tained our  position,  with  some  lit- 
tle advantage,  but  our  loss  was 
great. 

As  you  have  received  a  more 
perfect  account  in  the  public  dis- 
patches, I  shall  only,  as  briefly  as 
possible,  insert  a  few  facts  which 
have  not  yet  been  mentioned. 

On  the  18th  of  June,  the  day  of 
Waterloo,  we  took  up  a  good  po- 
sition, at  the  same  time  leavino- the 
enemy   one    they    would     accept. 

*  Serjeant-Major  Dixon,  having  Ion" 
niaiiuuined  an  exemplary  character,  has, 
since  ihc  battle,  receivtc!  a  commission, 
and  is  now  adjutant  in  ibc  Derbyshire 
militia. 


We  opened  on  the  enemy  seven  guns 
before  they  returned  an  answer; 
then  most  tremendously  the  action 
commenced,  but  God  was  with  us. 
I  addressed  my  company  in  a  few 
words,  to  "  be  steady  and  attentive 
to  orders — keep  perfect  silence — 
and  put  j'our  whole  trust  in  God's 
help,  for  he  is  with  us; — be  strong 
and  determined  ; — use  all  your  skill 
in  levelling; — make sureyour  mark, 
— and  in  the  charge,  use  all  your 
strength; — and  you  shall  see  by 
the  close  of  this  day's  sun,  your 
enemies  fiv,  and  the  shout  of  victo- 
ry  shall  be  yours."  I  felt  my  mind 
stayed  upon  God;  and  my  confi- 
dence was  so  firm,  that  neither  the 
timnder  of  our  enemy's  cannon  and 
musquetry, — nor  the  boast  of  his 
guards, — nor  the  threats  of  his  ca- 
valry (in  mail),  either  alarmed  my 
breast  or  concerned  my  mind  ;  God, 
I  knew,  was  my  Father,  my  shield, 
and  refuge.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  attempted  to  boast  myself  with 
confidence  of  escape  unhurt,  as  I 
now  experience;  but  this  one  thing 
I  knew,  my  peace  was  made  with 
God,  having  a  bright  evidence  in 
my  own  soul ;  and  that  while  I  lived 
I  would  play  my  part  for  the  vic- 
tory. It  was  the  Sabbath-day ;  and 
while  you  were  praising  and  pray- 
ing to  the  King  of  Glory  in  his 
church,  I  was  doing  the  same  in 
the  field  of  blood  :  I  was  truly  in 
the  spirit  of  a  Christian  and  of  a 
soldier  on  the  Lord's  day. 

The  enemy  fired  round  shiOt  and 
shell, —  gra[5e  and  canister, — and 
new  horse-nails,  tied  up  in  bundles, 
nine  bundles  in  a  gun  ;  these  I  saw 
and  iiandled  on  the  19th.  Unlaw- 
fiil  carnage:  but  the  portrait  of 
the  num  is  blood,  murder,  and  de- 
solation !  My  eyes  have  seen  much. 


SOME    PAUTICUl.AUS    OK    TllK    IJATTLK    OF    WATKllI.OO. 


99 


Sir,  I  have  the  happiness  to  serve 
ill  tlie  th:i-.l  l)aUalioi)  of  the  lirsL 
Guards,  wlio  in  a  parLicuUir  man- 
ner lUstiiij^uishecl  themselves,  de- 
termined to  shout  "Victory!"  or 
return  no  more;  and  God  hlessed 
their  endeavours.  Our  third  bat- 
talion and  a  battalion  of  rifle  of 
the  K.  G.  L.  (say  1200  men)  ad- 
vaneed  300  paces  in  front  of  tlic 
whole  line,  into  a  valley  which  lay 
between  the  two  |)<)sitions,  and 
within  100  yards  of  about  tiOOO  ca- 
valry and  3000  infantry  of  the  ene- 
my. Tiiey  viewed  us  with  asto- 
nishment; and  to  prove  that  God 
had  filled  them  \vit!i  fear,  the}- 
formed  square,  and  neither  ehar;^- 
ed  nor  fired  upon  us,  except  from 
the  heights  of  their  position;  but 
we  suffered  much  from  those  guns. 
We  remained  firing  at  them  for 
lialf  an  hour,  and  liien  retired  into 
our  post  in  line.  The  cavalry  (in 
armour)  charged  us  many  times  in 
the  course  of  the  day,  but  made 
no  impression  ;  we  repulsed  them 
with  "reat  slaufjhter.  We  never 
fired  at  the  cavalry  till  they  came 
within  about  30  yards  of  us.  To- 
wards the  evening,  Bonaparte  di- 
rected against  us  his  choice  lOolh 
regiment;  and  in  half  an  hour  we 
cut  them  all  to  |)ieces,  and  took 
one  stand  of  colours.  He  then  sent 
against  us  his  Grenadier  Imperial 
Guards;  they  came  within  100  yards 
of  us  and  ported  arms  to  charge; 
but  we  advanced  upon  tiiem  in 
quick  time,  and  opened  a  brisk  file 
fire  by  two  ranks  ;  they  allowed  us 
to  come  within  about  30  yards  of 
them — they  stood  till  then,  looking 
at  ns,  as  if  panic-struck,  and  did 
not  fire  ;  they  then,as  weapj)roach- 
ed,  faced  about  and  fied  for  their 
lives,  in    all   directions — they   did 


I  not  like  the  thought  of  the  Briti>h 

'  b;ivoneio,  for  we  had  just  comiiK.nc- 
ed  the  charge — they  ran  very  fast, 
but  many  of  them  fell,  while  we 
[xirsued,  and  with  them  one  stand 

,  of  colours;  and  1  have  the  honour 
to  wear   a  colonel's   sword   i)i'  the 

I  trench  Imperial  Guard*. 

*  Tlie  Serjeant,  in  a  Utter  to  his  wife, 
had   iiieiitioiied  a  particular   lad  ot'  his 
waving  an  ullicer's  coat,  and  cliteiiiig 
the  men  in  a  critical  nioinenl  of  the  bat- 
tle.    A  friend  who  liad  seen  this  Utter 
made  some   intjuiry  respecting  tliu  cir- 
cumstance; and  the  serjeant,  in  a  subse- 
qnent  Utter,  adds  tlie  to, Icjvviiig  particu- 
lars : — 
,       "When  the  I'rench    lOJih   n;gimtnt 
advancid  up  the  low  j^rwund,  ihcir  can- 
nun  at  the  oame  time  lakt-it  us  wiih  grape, 
cani-ter,  and   horse-nails;  and  our  line 
itl  tuo  (litieienl  liiiUc  was  so  shattered 
that  I  feared  ihey  cuuid  not  stand  :  iit 
fact,  1  was  for  a  moment   really  afraiil 
they  wouUl    give   way  ;   and    if  we   had 
yiven  way  it  would  have  youe  haid  with 
the  whole  line,  as  our  thn.l  battalion  and 
the  rifle  battalion  of  the  K.  G.  L.  were 
'  the  manoeuvre  of  the  day.     Our  otlicers 
1  exerted  themselves  to  the  very  uitei  mast, 
as  also    the   Serjeants.       Major- Cent-ral 
Maitland,  Colonel  Lord  Saltoun,  Colo- 
ncl  l{eevc,anJ  Brii^adt-.Majur  Gunthorp, 
i  were  in  the  front  lace  of  the  sq.iare,  in 
I  the  hottest  part  of  the  contest.     U.u-  loss 
at  this  lime  was  most  tremendous.     It 
was  at  this  juncture  that  I  picktfl  up  En- 
i  sitrn   Purdo's  coat,  uluch  was  cnvcml 
I]  with  his  blood,  l^-ingon   a  horse.     The 
jl  ensign  belonged  to  our  i>ult.diiin ;  he  was 
|l  killed  and    stripped   by  the   plunderers 
1  during  some  of  our  manreuvres.     1  step- 
i'  ped  about  twenty-five  paces  before  the 
line  and  waved  the  « oat,  cheering  the 
men,  and   telling   them,   thatwlvde  onr 
olfirtMS  bled  we  sliould  not  reckon  our 
lives  dear.    (I  did  this  a  second  time  w  hm 
the  Imperials  came  up  aj^ainst  us,  and  I 
believe  it  had  its  deiii  ed  elKcl.)   I  tho-.i'^ht 


100 


SOMb;    1>AUTICULAUS    OF   THE    BATTLE    OF    WATERLOO. 


Though  not  mentioned  in  the 
dispatch  (they  all  fouglit  so  well), 
yet  it  was  our  third  battalion  of  the 
first  Guards,  and  the  riHe  battalion 
of  the  K.  G.  L.,  that  first  com- 
pletely turned  the  day  in  our  fa- 
vour. When  the  Imperial  Guards, 
the  dependence  of  Bonaparte,  ran, 
his  defence  departed  from  hins, 
and  his  whole  line,  as  has  been 
stated,  became  confusion.  Much 
to  the  honour  of  his  grace  (as  in 
every  case  throughout  the  day),  he 
seized  the  moment,  and  in  the  space 
of  five  minutes  formed  a  line  in  the 
valley  for  a  general  charge,  and 
then  the  shout  of  "Victory!  vic- 
tory !"  was  heard.  The  very  ele- 
ments rang  with  voices  and  cannon 
on  Britain's  side — and  what  was 
my  shout  ?    In  a  loud  tone  of  voice, 

if  any  thing  would  stimulate  the  men, 
this  would  be  efiective.  An  officer  hav- 
ing just  sacrificed  his  life  for  liis  coun- 
try's safety,  ours  were  pledged  for  the 
samu.  The  men  fought  with  all  their 
laigh* ;  and  in  half  an  hour,  as  I  men- 
tioned, we  cut  the  \05i\\  leginient  all  to 
pieces,  and  took  one  stand  of  colours. 
Had  I  known,  however,  tl.at  the  coat 
would  liave  been  mentioned  farther  than 
to  my  wife,  I  should  not  have  inserted  it, 
but  let  that  well  known  fact  have  been 
mentioned  by  others.  I  do  not  Hke  to 
coaunend  myself,  as  tiiis  is  empty  praise; 
I  only  mention  facts  to  describe  the  ma- 
noeuvres, and  our  thoughts  and  experi- 
ence, and  how  the  action  terminated.  I 
had  notliiiig  in  view  but  the  safely  and 
honour  of  my  country,  and  lo  conquer  or 
die.  God  knows  rny  heart;  and  through 
his  merciful  supjiort  I  feared  no  man; 
no,  nor  death  itself,  nor  any  thinf  in 
league  with  it.  I  believe  this  was  the 
aniraated  spirit  of  the  British  line,  and 
they  did  their  duty;  but  no  more.  This 
our  country  expects,  and  is  ever  worthy 
of. 


I  I  cried  out,  "Glory  be  to  God! 
he  is  with  us  !  I  now  rejoice.  My 
prayers  are  answered  fully,  and  my 
labours  crowned  !" 

The  fight,  at  one  time,  was  so 
desperate  with  our  battalion,  that 
files  upon  files  were  carried  out  to 
the  rear  from  the  carnage,  and  the 
line  was  held  up  by  the  Serjeants' 
pikes,  placed  against  the  rear :  not 
for  want  of  courage  on  the  men's 
part  (for  they  were  desperate,)  only 
for  the  moment  our  loss  so  unstea- 
died  the  line*. 

I  lost  of  nsy  company,  killed  and 
wounded,  three  officers,  three  Ser- 
jeants, and  54  rank  and  file  out  of 
97.  Several  of  tiieu),  after  their 
wounds  were  dressed,  returned  to 
liie  field,  and  fought  out  the  battle. 

It  will  rejoice  your  heart  to  hear 
that  the  Methodists  in  this  action 
have  completely  refuted  the  slan- 
ders propagated  against  them,  re- 
specting which  Mr.  Griffiths  wrote 
tome.  (I  answered  his  letter,  atid 
have  no  objection  that  my  answer 
should  be  published.)  Our  names 
are  known  and  our  conduct  seen. 
Our  surviving  officers  may  be  re- 
ferred to;  and  on  inquiry  it  will  be 
found,  that  we  who  fear  God,  love 

*  In  a  subsequent  letter  the  Serjeant 
mentions,  that  "  theserjeaiiis  placed  their 
pdies  against  the  men's  backs  in  line  (for 
they  were  getting  eight  or  ten  deeu),  and 
bore  them  up  by  their  shoulders  by  main 
strengih.  Some  of  the  men  kept  up  firm 
in  tlie  line,  but  others  fell  back  to  get  out 
ammunition,  and  others  were  begging  am- 
munition in  the  rear  as  all  their  own  was 
spent,  which,  with  our  continual  loss, 
quite  unsteadied  the  line;  so  the  pikes 
were  intended  to  prevent  any  from  fall- 
ing back  for  ammuniiion,  as  we  wanted 
the  men  to  use  the  bayonet,  for  now  de- 
pended the  honour  of  Britain,  and  the 
safety  of  Europe." 


SOME    PARTICULAUS    OF    THE    BATTLE    OF    WATERLOO. 


101 


our  king,  and  luive  fouglit  liis  bat- 
tles witli  undaunted  courage,  and 
(according  to  our  rank)  have  as 
great  a  share  of  the  honour  of  that 
day  as  any  part  of  the  line;  and 
C  W.  is  ready  to  meet  and  dispute 
with  that  gentleuuui,  to  vindicate 
the  character  of  the  religions  sol- 
dier,  on  his  return  from  the  field 
of  blood  to  the  land  of  peace. 

0  !  how  happy  was  my  soul  (even 
in  the  sea  of  blood)  in  Britain's 
cause  and  Europe's  safety  !  1  do 
not  know  that  1  ever  experienced 
greater  peaeeand  serenity  of  mind, 
and  such  a  confidence  that  the  arm 
of  God  was  stretched  out  in  our  be- 
half; that  he  was  in  tlie  midst  of 
us,  and  gave  wisdom  to  our  com- 
mander,—  strength  to  our  niinds 
and  bodies, — and  confusion  to  our 
enemies. 

1  have,  as  colour-serjeant,  stood 
by  the  king's  colours  from  the  mo- 
ment of  our  march,  till  borne,  in 
Britain's  name,  within  the  gates  of 
Paris.  Seven  of  our  colour-ser- 
jeants  entered  the  field,  and  there 
are  only  myself  and  one  more  that 
stand.  What  sliall  1  render  unto 
the  Lord  for  all  his  benefits  ?  1  will 
take  the  cup  of  salvation,  and  call 
upon  his  name;  my  tongue  shall 
not  cease  to  proclaim  his  mercy, 
nor  my  iieart  to  adore  his  good- 
ness. 

The  French  behaved  very  ill  to 
our  prisoners  on  the  I6th;  several 
©f  our  wounded  the  blood-thirsty 
cowards  ran  though  with  their  bayo- 
nets and  swords.  (These  were  not 
the  old  soldiers  we  used  to  fight 
with.)  Some  have  lived  so  long  as 
to  testify  against  them,  and  to  shew 
us  their  wounds  ;  but  tlio  British 
have  in  return  rescued  many  of 
ifhejr  enemies  from  death,  and  given 


them  bread  and  water,  and  looked 
as  much  to  their  safety  as  to  our 
own. 

The  duke  lias  greatly  endeared 
himself  to  the  British  soldiers; 
more  so  in  these  actions  than  in  all 
beibre.  1  ever  loved  and  reposed 
confidence  in  him  as  my  command- 
er ;  but  the  exaujple  he  gave  us  on 
the  l>^th,  and  again  on  the  20tli 
of  .Iiine,  was  sufficient  to  inspire 
every  man  with  that  fortitude  and 
determination,  "  With  \\'ellington 
we  will  conquer,  or  with  Welling- 
ton we  will  die!"  He  was  conti- 
nually on  the  first  line,  and  fre- 
quently with  our  battalion.  I  have 
seen  some  of  the  enemy's  cavalry 
charge  within  fifty  yards  of  him. 
I  prayed  to  God  most  earnestly  for 
his  ])rotection;  and  I  bless  the 
Lord  for  his  preservation.  I  hope 
his  heart  will  rejoice  in  the  fruit  of 
his  labour,  giving  God  the  glory 
due  for  his  numy  signal  victories. 

I  am  hap])y  to  say,  that  Major- 
General  IVlaitland  is  safe  and  well ; 
he  is  an  example  to  all  around.  I 
lament  the  sufferings  of  my  late 
Colonel  Cooke;  he  was  severely 
wounded  on  the  18th;  I  pray  God 
to  spare  his  valuable  life.  You 
have  often  heard  uje  speak  of  him. 

But  what  shall  I  say  in  honour  of 
my  late  Lieutenant-Colonel,  Wil- 
liam Miller — my  great  friend,  mv 
helper,  a  servant  to  the  cause  of 
Ciirist  (in  tlie  Jsla  de  Leon,  and  to 
his  latest  breath)  ?  He  is  no  more 
to  be  seen  in  this  world:  he  was 
mortally  \\ounded  on  the  16th  of 
June,  and  on  the  ISth  he  breathed 
his  last.  As  for  Colonel  Miller's 
attention  to  his  companv,  none  ex- 
celled. He  was  continually  in- 
quiring what  could  be  done  to  make 
them    more  comfortable.     "  1    do 


102 


SOMR   TATITICULAUS   OF   Timi  BATTLE    OF    WATEni.oo, 


not  care  for  the  expense,"  he  would 
sav,  "  money  is  no  object  to  me." 
On  the  close  ot  a  Jay's  march,  his 
first  care  was  to  see  liis  men  com- 
fortable, and  then  he  considered 
liimself;  and  after  an  absence  of 
any  time,  liis  first  inquiry  was  con- 
cerning their  health  and  conduct. 
Before  the  enemy  he  was  cool  and 
deliberate,  vigilant  and  brave,  firm 
and  determined  ;  and  on  the  16th  of 
June,  at  the  head  of  his  company 
in  very  close  action,  cheering  his 
men,  he  received  a  wound  in  his 
breast,  which  proved  mortal.  As 
lie  passed  to  the  rear,  borne  by  four 
men,  he  said, "  Let  me  see  the  co- 
lours." The  last  office  1  could  do 
for  him  was  to  place  the  coloui^'S  in 
Ensign  Batty's  handsj  to  pay  him 
his  funeral  honours  while -living. 
He  then  said,  "  I  thank  you,— that 
will  do;  —  I  am  satisfied."  Hii 
meaning  u;;?,  that  he  died  foF  bis 
country,  and  in  a  just  cause.''-'  '^f^J 
I  have  lost  my  greatest  friend, 
and  my  companj^afather,  England 
a  valuable  officer,  liis  parents  a  be- 
loved son,  and  the  church  of  Christ 
a  friend  ;  but  may  our  loss  be  his 
eternal  gain  !  Serjeant  Clarke, 
VV'ho  attended  him,  informs  me  that 
Ills  last  'nrcath  was  prayer.  1  hope 
his  SOU;  ii  at  rest!  His  labours  of 
love  and  c'larity  follow  him.  I 
s'.'.a'.i  see  Isim  no  more  in  this  world, 
but  his  name  will  be  a  lasting  trea- 
sure to  my  heart.  Believe  me,  sir, 
I  never  felt  a  loss  like  this  before; 
I  cannot  fiiul  words  to  express  the 
feelings  of  my  h.cart.  If  there  be 
a  sn)a!l  vacant  place  in  onr  valua- 
ble magazine,  and  yon  tliink  it 
prudent,  let  his  name  fill  it;  and 
let  the  f)uhlic  know  how  we  value 
a  friend  of  truth,  whether  he  be  a 
Methodist  or  I'.ot.     I  should   like 


our  people  to  know,  that  an  officer, 
a  friend  to  God  and  the  truth,  liath, 
in  the  late  glorious  victory,  sealed 
the  justness  of  our  cause  with  his 
blood. 

I  am  very  sorry  for  the  com- 
manding officer  of  our  battalion 
and  first  major,  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Stuart,  and  Lieutenant-Colonel  the 
Honourable  H.  Townsliend,  who 
are  severely  wounded  :  they  are 
most  excellent  officers  and  brave 
soldiers.  May  God  in  mercy  re- 
store them  shortly  to  health  ! 

On  our  march  to  Paris,  we  pass- 
ed through  a  most  beautiful  and 
fruitful  country  ;  we  met  with  but 
little  opposition.  At  Peronne,  on 
the  26th  of  June,  after  a  long  day's 
n>arch,  on  our  arrival,  his  grace 
gave  the  first  brigade  a  job.  Our 
second  battalion  carried  fascines-, 
and  the  third  battalion  stormed  the 
out-works  in  a  most  masterly  man-  , 
ner,  and  the  citadel  surrendered  im-^^ 
mediately,  Major-General  Mait- 
land  commanded  ;  and  here  again 
the  duke  was  himself  in  the  midst 
of  it.  It  has  been  expressed  that 
our  beloved  commander  is  not  much 
exposed.  I  can  fully  contradict 
that  assertion,  for  he  is  often  first, 
and  always  in  the  midst :  he  will 
not  permit  others  to  do  his  duty.  I 
believe  Britain  is  his  treasure,  and 
his  life  he  has  pledged  for  its  safety. 

The  Prussians  fight  exceedingly 
well.  Vv"hen  we  arrived  off  Paris', 
they  shouted  for  joy,  and  the 
French  trembled. 

Several  villages  on  the  road  were 
deserted,  for  which  the  inhabitants 
suffered  the  loss  of  all  things.  Pro- 
tection was  triven  to  those  that  re- 
mained :  much  damage  has  been 
donte  to  the  corn.  France,  by  her 
deceit,  licentiousness,  and  abomii- 


SOME    PArrnCULARS    OF   THE    BATTLE    OF    WATI  RLOO.  10.3 


liable  wickedness,  has  gathered  this 
cloud  over  herself;  and  it  has  burst 
upon  lierhead,  antl  no  doubt  many 
now  rc-[)ent  their  ioily.  The  ap- 
pearance of  religion  is  not  seen  ; 
and  to  speak  of  it,  is  foolishness  to 
them.  The  sabbath  is  not  known 
by  that  solemn  worship  which  is 
due  to  God  ;  it  is  only  known  by 
pleasure  :  and  as  for  common  de- 
cency, it  seems  to  be  very  trifling. 
The  element  of  the  trades-people 
is  imposition.  In  Paris  all  is  peace 
and  tranquillity, a  good  reason  why. 
But  the  people  tell  us,  "  As  soon  as 
you  are  gone,  we  shall  be  French- 
men again."  1  think  the  only  thing 
we  can  do,  is,  to  guarantee  the  out- 
posts of  this  country  by  ourselves 
and  allies,  until  they  have  destroy- 
ed the  fortifications,  arsenals,  and 
njilitary  depots  of  arms,  &,c.  and 
leave  only  what  may  be  necessary 
for  internal  defence.  However,  I 
hope  God  is  with  the  sovereigns 
and  ministers  in  Paris,  as  he  was 
with  us  at  Waterloo,  and  in  all  our 
undertakings;  and  that  peace  may 
be  settled  upon  a  good  foundation. 

As  to  the  fortifications  which 
Bonaparte  boasted  of  around  Paris, 
I  neither  consider  Mont  Martre  nor 
any  other  to  be  worth  notice ;  not 
a  tenth  part  of  those  at  Peronne. 
I'he  entrance  into  the  city  and  the 
palace  is  most  beautiful,  as  also  the 
triumphal  arches  and  picture-gal- 
lery ;  and  Napoleon's  brazen  mo- 
numetu  of  Ambition,  wreathed  with 
trophies  of  victory,  anil  homage 
])aid  him  from  the  different  coun- 
tries he  concjuered.  There  is  a 
smiiil  vacant  place  near  the  top,  and 
the  people  tell  us  it  was  intended 
to  j)lace  Britannia  there.  But  in 
his  presuujptuous  thought  he  falls; 
his  sXrength  and  elorv  depart ;  he 

fuLU.  i\o.  I  llJ.' 


sues  at  the  feet  of  our  sovereign 
for  mercy,  and  proves  himself  to  be 
no  more  a  monarch,  but  a  capciv'e 
thrall. 

We  soldiers  feel  thankful  for  the 
gracious  thanks  given  to  us  l)y  (jur 
Sovt-reign,  his  Ministers,  and  the 
Honourable  Houses  of  Parliament 
of  our  beloved  country,  for  our 
zealous  exertions  at  Waterloo,  and 
glorious  victory  God  has  crowned 
us  with.  Be  assured,  sir,  we  feel 
this  as  an  invaluable  treasure;  it 
warms  our  hearts.  There  is  only 
one  remark,  or  rather  a  proj>osi- 
tion,  made  by  Sir  Francis  BurdoU, 
we  avowedly  disapprove;  wiiich 
was,  at  that  momentous  height  of 
joy  to  introduce  the  scene  of  flog- 
ging. Had  the  hon.  baronet  mov- 
ed, that  the  House  should  have 
taken  into  consideration  the  valua- 
ble services  the  troo[)s  had  ren- 
dered their  country  at  Waterloo, 
and  the  addition  of  a  small  pension 
when  they  pass  the  board  at  Chel- 
sea, Sir  Francis  would  have  been  a 
friend;  but  as  for  the  other,  as 
proposed,  we  disapprove.  For  in- 
stance, if  any  |)art  of  the  line  had 
not  stood  fuai,  determined  to  con- 
quer or  (li<-,  but  had  left  the  field 
and  gone  to  Brussels,  Sir  F.  I  sup- 
pose, would  not  have  these  men 
(logged  !  U'rll,  1  will  agree  th.cn 
with  him,  that  they  should  be  hang- 
ed, and  every  coward  who  quits  his 
post,  and  flies  from  the  face  of  his 
enemy,  exposing  his  couirades  t.) 
their  mercy,  or  leaving  tiieni  in  the 
field  ;  but  the  good  soldier  consents 
to  the  law,  that  it  is  wholesome  and 
good.  1  approve  of  the  last  amend- 
ment rcs[)e(iing  cowards,  and  I 
think  it  cannot  be  amended. 

We  had   a  grand  review  of  all 
the  British,  Hanoverian,  and  Bel- 
P 


104 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


gian  troops,  on  Monday  last.  It 
was  a  beautiful  sight.  The  Em- 
peror of  Russia  was  tb.ere,  and 
many  others  of  distinction,  and  his 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington  on 
his  right.  The  day  the  emperor 
arrived  and  saw  the  duke,  he  fell  j 
upon  his  neck  and  kissed  liim,  and  j 
wept,  in  the  presence  of  the  guard.  { 

I  must  conclude  witli  noticing 
the  great  kindness  of  our  society  in 
Westminster  on  my  departure,  and 
their  unceasing  prayers  and  inqui- 
ries: I  am  much  indebted  to  tiiem  ; 
my  heart  is  with  them.  It  comforts 
rne  to  find  I  have  such  Iriends  un- 
sought. It  proves  to  me  that  God 
is  my  friend,  and  will  not  leave  mv 
fatnily  comfortless.  I  hope  soon  to 
see  all  my  friends  on  that  peaceful 
shore,  where  the  widow  and  father- 
less are  visited,  the  distressed  re- 
lieved, the  poor  comforted,  and 
where  his  Gospel  shines  in  its  me- 
ridian light,  amongst  that  people 
in  whom  God  delights  to  dwell.  I 
shall  then  be  able  to  give  you  a 
better  account  than  at  present. 

I  am  well  in  health,  and  feel  my 
soul  alive  to  God.  I  have  a  hut 
built,  and  an  altar  erected  unto  the 


Lord.  My  few  brethren  are  well ; 
their  experiences  all  agree  in  the 
blessed  help  they  received  in  the 
late  actions — peace  with  God,  and 
a  full  persuasion  that  he  had  a 
right  to  dispose  of  them  as  seemed 
good  unto  him.  Now  they  are 
preserved,  they  agree  to  live  to  and 
for  God.  We  expect  to  go  into 
barracks  at  Paris  in  a  few  days,  and 
then  I  hope  to  be  able  to  open  a 
place  for  divine  worship,  and  in 
my  next  to  give  you  a  more  full 
account  of  the  blessed  cause  in 
which  my  soul  delights  ;  but  1  must 
confess  1  never  felt  the  separation 
from  God's  people  in  England  as  I 
have  on  this  service.  Though  I 
am  blessed  with  great  strength  of 
body  and  mind,  and  union  and 
coimnunion  with  God,  yet  my  heart 
is  at  home.  Oil  !  happy,  happy 
England  !  if  thou  didst  but  know 
thy  exaltation  and  privileges,  both 
great  and  small  would  love  and 
adore  the  Author  of  all  thy  mer- 
cies 1  I  am,  sir,  your  most  dutiful 
and  obliged  servant,  C.  W. 

Colour-serjeant,  3ri  batfalipn, 
1st  Foot  Guai'ds. 


To  J.  B.  Esq.  London^ 


'£t 


MUSICAL 

Marche  suivie  de  Variations  siir  V  Air 
"  Will  you  come  to  the  Bower," 
dediies    a    Miss    Cockburu,    par 
Fred.  Kalkbrenner.     Pr.  3s. 
In  the  march  (four  sharps)  which 
precedes  these  variations,  Mr.  K. 
has  given   full  scope  to  that  rich 
and  exuberant  fancy,  and  that  Ho- 
rid  elegance  of  expression,  which 
are    generally    observable    in    his 
works.     The  subject,  which  pro- 
perly begins  only  with   the  third 
line,  is  not  altoi^ether  of  a  novel 


REVIEW. 

cast,  but  its  effective  harmonic 
support,  and,  above  all,  the  classic 
superstructure  reared  upon  it,  in- 
fuse the  highest  interest  into  the 
whole  movement:  the  modulations 
in  the  second  and  third  pages,  es- 
pecially the  fine  transition  to  C 
major,  p.  2,  are  of  the  first  order. 
The  theme  of  the  variations,  "  Will 
you  come  to  the  Bower,"  is  well 
known  to  all  our  readers:  in  the 
propounding  of  it,  Mr.  K.  has  per- 
mitted himself  some  little  devia-» 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


105 


tions  from  the  authentic  melody. 
1'hu  first  variation  is  cast  in  coiiti- 
luial  semiquaver  passages  of  agree- 
able Hiieiicy,   and  well  supported 
by  tl;e  accompaniment  of  the  left 
hand.     Var.    '2    appears    to    us    to 
swerve  too  freely  from  the  theme, 
of  vvhicli  it  barely  gives  a  hint ;  but, 
considered  without  reference  to  the 
.subject,  its  conception  and  contra- 
puntal arrangement  are  exquisite. 
The  same  aberration  from  the  me- 
lody is  perceptible   in    the   Uiinor 
var.  No.  4  ;  but  here,  too,  the  sci- 
ence and    skill    displayed    in    the 
successive  harmonic  coiuhinations 
make  ample  amends  for  the  depar- 
.tiire  from  the  subject.     Var.  3  fol- 
lows the  melody  with  fidelity,  antl 
derives   S])irit   and    marked    preci- 
sion    from     the    demisenutjnaver 
rests,  which  continually  break  the 
progress  of  the  right  hand.     In  the 
6th  var.  we  have  to  applaud  an  ex- 
cellent   running    bass;     and     the 
broken  chords  in  var.  6  produce  a 
brilliant  effect.     The  7th  and  last 
var.  consists  of  a  presto,  disposed 
in   trij)lets,   and  serves  as  a  coda, 
which  leads  to  a  siiewy  and  satis- 
factory termination. 
Non  Fell  ci  or  alter.     Test  a  Epitala- 
mica    Pastorale    per    le    Reggie 
Nozze  di  S.  A.  R.  la  Primipessi/ui 
Carlotte  di  Galles,  col  Serenissinio 
Principe  di  Sassoriia   Coburgo,  le 
Segiienti  Composiziotii  sofio  vmil- 
-•    mente  dedicate  a  S.  A,  R.  ilPrin- 
■    cipe  Regente,  a  S.  A.  R.  la  Prin- 
cipessina  Carlotte  di  Galles,  ed  al 
Hercnissimo  Principe  Leap,  di  Sas- 
aoiiia  CuOiirgo,  da  loro  umili  e  fe- 
deli  Servitori  Leucippo  Egineo, 
.     e"^  rf«/ Cav.  r^Iarescotii.     Pr.  6s.' 

To  such  of  our  readers  as  are 
not  sufficiently  coiwersant  in  the 
Italian   lans:uae"e  to   translate   the 


above  title,  we  have  to  state,  that 
this  is  a  poetical  effusion,  set  to 
music,  in  celebration  of  the  nup- 
tials of  her  Royal  Highness  the 
Princess  Charlotte  of  Wales.  The 
whole  forms  a  sort  of  o[ieratic  in- 
terlude, the  persons  of  which  are 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses,  A  pol- 
io, the  Muses,  &c.;  and  tlie  music 
consists  of  airs,  duets,  and  chorus- 
es. From  these,  we  must  own,  we 
have  derived  considerable  enter- 
tainment. All  are  written  in  a  very 
pleasing  Italifm  style  of  harniony, 
with  much  diversity  of  character, 
and,  in  some  instances,  with  a  very 
fair  display  of  science  and  origi- 
nality. Tile  latter  remark  more 
particiilarl}'  a};plies  to  the  empha- 
tic air  of  Apollo,  "  Da  qucsto  glo- 
bo,"  &c.  p.  10,  which  sets  out  in 
two  sharps,  and  gradually  arrives 
at  such  a  nuniber  of  flats  (Db), 
thai,  in  order  to  return  smoothly 
to  tlie  original  key,  the  key  of  C 
sharp  is  at  once  substituted  for  that 
of  D  flat.  As  the  text  required 
peculiar  and  striking  expression, 
we  feel  perfectly  satisfied  with  this 
part  of  the  composer's  labours. 
But  we  cannot  so  well  explain  the 
poet's  intent,  when,  in  the  midst  of 
the  festivity,  the  Delian  god,  amidst 
peals  of  thunder,  tells  the  shep- 
herds, that  he  never  saw  a  tyran- 
nical disposition  ascend  to  Heaven; 
on  the  contrary,  that  such  a  being 
is  sure  to  be  doomed  to  everlasting 
torments  in  the  dark  abyss  of  Tar- 
tarus. Surely  this  cannot  have 
been  meant  as  a  hint ! 
Fare  thee  well !  zcritten  by  Lord  By- 
ron, composed  by  W.  T.  Parke. 
Pr.  Is.  6d. 

Numerous  and  diversified  as  the 
attempts  have  been  to  melodize  the 
above  poem,  we  think  none  of  the 
P  -2 


106 


■MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


«insical  ccnipetitors  can  boast  of 
liaviag  ftiruishecl  a  production  of 
superior  merit,  notwithstanding  the 
text  seems  susceptible  of  a  high 
degree  of  pathetic  musical  expres- 
sion. Tlie  cause  of  the  failure  pro- 
bably lies  in  the  haste  with  which 
publications  of  tliis  description  are 
brought  out,  so  as  to  have  the  start 
of  rival  performances,  and,  at  all 
events,  to  overtake  the  fleeting  im- 
pression of  the  day.  Mr.  Parke's 
labour  before  us,  although  not  the 
least  interesting  of  the  several  Fate. 
thetcelPs  that  have  come  under  our 
cognizance,  also  bears,  in  our  opi- 
nion, intrinsic  evidence  of  the  ex- 
pedition with  which  it  was  put  to- 
gether. We  meet  with  some  at- 
tractive ideas,  but  thev  are  aban- 
doned before  they  are  sufficiently 
developed  :  hence  arises  a  want  of 
symmetry  in  the  phrases  and  pe- 
riods. We  likewise  are  of  opinion, 
that,  for  a  production  of  such  small 
compass,  there  are  too  many  parts 
of  distinct  character  and  metre  to 
combine  into  a  satisfactory  whole. 
What  would  produce  interesting 
variety  in  an  extended  cantata,  is 
not  equally  admissible  in  a  small 
song. 

Hibernian  Air,  arranged  as  a  Rondo 
for  the  Piano- For le^  with  an  In- 
trodiiction,  composed,  and  dedicat- 
.    ,ed  to  ^J.iss  Daliojk,  by  i.  B.  Cra- 
.,|f»ier^  ^,fM.^9Mixno^^  sdJ  rii— sd 
The  andante  which  precedes  the 
rondo  is  a  sweet  little  movement, 
replete  with  pleasing  njelody  in  its 
first    portion,  and   the  latter    half 
proceeds  through  fancifid  passages 
of  great  elegance  to  a  |iau«eoo  G,  7. 
The  Irish  air,  which  farms  the  sub- 
ject of  the  rondo,  contains  a  de- 
SQ,ri  ptipn  of  h^irinuuy  (bar  ^)  wliac h, 
as  it  IS  the  property  of  tiie  air  it- 


self, affords  matter  of  surprise,  that 
it  should  not  have  stood  in  the  way 
of  the  choice  of  the  subject  alto- 
gether.    However  frequent  it  may 
be  in    Hibernian   compositions  to 
leap  from  the  chord  of  F  major  to 
that  of  G  minor,  we  shall  never  be 
able  to  reconcile  our  ear  to  such  a 
harmony,  which  virtually  contains 
both  successive  fifths  and  octavee, 
and  which,  when  admitted  into  the 
works  of  such  a  master  as  Mr.  C. 
obtains  higlj  authority  in  favour  of 
its;  more  general  currency.     This 
unfortunate  bar,  of  course,  makes 
its  appearance  at  every  repetition 
of  the  theme.  In  all  other  respects 
the  rondo  before  us  is  worthy  of 
the  author's  name.    The  digressive 
matter,  which  immediately  follows 
the  air,  is  tastefully  conceived  :  an 
agreeable  dolce,  in  the  spirit  of  the 
mofeivo,  intervenes,/?.  3;  after  which 
several  neat  passages  of  semiqua- 
vers enffao-e  our  attention.     In  the 
fourth  page  a  very  attractive  and 
melodious  part  in  two  flats  is  in- 
serted, in   the  course  of  which  tl>e 
right  hand   crosses    into    the  bass, 
with  a  happy  eff"ect. 
Anf>zcer  to    ''  Jessy  the    Flower  (.*f 
Damhlaite,^^    composed,    zcith    an 
Accompaniment  for   the    Piano- 
For/f,  by  C.N.Smith.  Pr.  Is.iJd. 
The  Scotch  melody  of  this  song 
is  agreeable,  and  well  adapted  to 
(the  poetry.     It  is  evidently  an  imi- 
tation of  the  tune  of  "  Jessie,  the 
Flow'r  o'    Dumblane,"    composed 
by  Mr.  R.  A.  Smith,  to  which  it 
professes  to  be  an  answer. 
Roi/s  Wife  of  Alldivaloch,  arranged 
for  the  Piano- Forte  as  a  Rondo^ 
icifh   an   Introduction,    composed, 
and  respect fw'lt^  dedicated  to  Bliss 
Serym?,  by  T.Howell.  Pr.2s.6d. 
The  introduction,  in  which  the 


UtMARKAHLL    ArJ'AItlUUN', 


107 


subject  of  the  rondo  is  judiciously 
gluuced  at,  is  conceived  with  taste, 
and  alt()<;(llic'r  in  ii;ood  stylo.  The 
same  [general  remark  applies  to  the 
next  u»ovomc?U,  which,  upon  the 
whole,  however,  seems  to  exhibit 
rather  the  character  of  an  andante, 
interspersed  with  occasional  varia- 
tions, than  that  of  a  rondo.  In 
point  of  general  treatment  and 
keeping,  we  ijave  every  reason  to 


he  pleased  with  this  part  of  Mr. 
H.'s  labours.  The  decorative  atn- 
plifuations  are  satisfactory;  the 
subject  is  aj)propriately  represent- 
ed under  various  kindred  keys, 
major  and  minor  ;  and  the  harmo- 
nies are  correct  and  elective.  I\Ir. 
li.  appears  to  have  studied  classic 
ujodels  with  advantage  and  suc- 
cess. 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Coiisisliuir  vf  iNTERESTiya  Ext  li.icTS  from  SEir  Popitar 

PVDLIC  tTIOXS. 

II  i:  MA  UK  ABLE  APPARITION. 

(Fruiii  JvMts's  Travels  in  Gcrviauj/,   S\^eden,   &.c.) 

0>J  thesubjectoffuturedestinies,  r  eleven  and  twelve  at  niglit,  was 
itmustbesaidthattheCrown  Prince  '  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  a 
(of  Sweden)  personally  deserves  jl  light  iii  the  window  of  the  hall  of 
everyniarkof  gratitude  that  the  na-  |[  the  diet:  hedemaudod  of  the  gran.'l 
lion  can  confer  upon  him,  for  his  jj  chancellor  Bjelke,  who  was  pre- 
exertions,  his  spirit,  his  activity,  his  [  sent,  what  it  was  he  saw,  and  was 
generosity:  but  there  are  still  ma-  i:  answered  that  it  was  only  the  re- 
ny  parties  friendly  to  tlie  old  dy-  L  flection  of  the  njoon:  with  thi«^, 
nasty,  and,  as  to  what  may  take  j  however,  he  was  dissatisfied  ;  and 
])lace  hereafter,  I  have  too  little  the  senator  Bjelke  soon  after  en- 
skill  in  prophecy  to  hazard  even  a  j  tering  the  room,  ho  addressed  the 
conjecture.  Such  persons  as  are  i  same  question  to  him,  but  r.-ceivcd 
desirous,  however,  to  look  into  what  I  the  san»e  answer.  Lo(jking  after- 
is  to  come,  may  be  amused  by  I  tervvardsiigaiii  through  the  window, 
perusing  the  following  narrative  ;  he  thought  he  observed  a  crowd  of 
of  an  extraordinaryvision  of  Charles  persons  in  the  hall :  upon  this,  saiil 
XI.  It  is  taken  from  an  account  ,  he,  "Sirs,  all  is  not  as  it  should 
written  with  his  own  hand,  attested  li  be — in  the  confidence  that  he  who 
by  several  of  his  ministers  of  state,  .j  fears  God  need  dread  nothing,  I 
and  preserved  in  the  royal  library,  jj  will  go  and  see  what  this  may  be." 
It  contains,  upon  the  whole,  so  cu-  Ordering  the  noblemen  before- 
rious  a  specimen  of  the  mind  and  mentioned,  as  also  Oxenstiorn  and 
manner  of  one  of  the  greatest  Svve-  Brahe,  to  accoujpany  lum,  he  sent 
dish  monarchs,  that  no  apology,  I  for  Grunstern,  the  door-keeper, 
am  sure,  is  needful  for  its  intro- '  and  descended  the  staircase  leading 
duction.  ;  to  the  hall.  ■^' 

Charles  XI.  it  seems,  sitting  in  Here  the  party  seoni  to  have  been 
his  chamber,  between  the  hours  of,,  sensible  of  a  certain  dcj^rce  ol  •  trtr- 


103 


UEMAUKABLE   APPAJlITlON. 


pidation,  and  no  one  else  daring 
to  open  the  door,  the  king  took  the 
tey,  unlocked  it,  and  entered  first 
into  the  anti-chamber  :  to  their  in- 
finite surprise  it  was  fitted  up  with 
black  cloth:  alarmed  by  this  ex- 
traordinary circumstance,  a  second 
pause  occurred  ;  at  length  the  king 
set  his  foot  within  the  hail,  but  fell 
back  in  astonishment  at  what  he 
saw:  again,  however,  taking  cou- 
rage, he  made  his  companions  pro- 
mise to  follow  him,  and  advanced. 
The  hall  was  lighted  up  and  array- 
ed in  the  same  mournful  hanirinss 
as  the  anti-chauiber:  in  the  centre 
was  a  round  table,  where  sat  sixteen 
venerable  men,  each  with  large 
volumes  lying  open  before  them : 
above  was  the  king,  a  young  man 
of  16  or  18  years  of  age,  with  the 
crown  on  his  head  and  sceptre  in 
his  hand.  On  his  right  hand  sat 
a  personage  about  40  years  old, 
uhose  face  bore  the  strongest  marks 
of  integrity;  on  his  left  an  old  man 
of  70,  wlic  seemed  very  urgent  with 
the  young  king  that  he  should  make 
a  certain  sign  with  his  head,  which 
as  often  as  he  did,  the  venerable 
men  struck  their  hands  on  their 
books  with  violence. 

Turning  my  eyes,  says  he,  a  lit- 
tle farther,  I  beheld  a  scaffold  and 
executioners;  and  men  with  their 
clothes  tucked  up,cutting  oft"  heads 
one  after  the  other  so  fast,  that  the 
blood  formed  a  deluge  on  the  floor : 
those  who  suff^ered  were  all  young 
men.  Again  I  looked  up,  and  per- 
ceived the  throne  behind  the  great 
table  ahuost  overturned;  near  it 
stood  a  man  of  40,  that  seemed  the 
protector  of  the  kingdom.  I  trem- 
bled at  the  sight  of  these  things, 
and  cried  aloud — "It  is  the  voice 


of  God  ! — What  ought  I  to  under- 
stand?— When  shall  all  this  come 
to  pass?" — A  dead  silence  prevail- 
ed ;  but  on  my  crying  out  a  second 
time,  the  young  king  answered  me 
saying,  "This  shall  not  happen  in 
your  time,  but  in  the  days  of  the 
sixth  sovereign  after  you.  He  shall 
be  of  the  same  age  as  I  now  appear 
to  have,  and  this  personage  sitting 
beside  me  gives  you  the  air  of  him 
that  shall  be  the  regent  and  pro- 
tector of  the  realm.  During  the 
last  year  of  the  regency,  the  coun- 
try shall  be  sold  by  certain  young 
men,  but  he  shall  then  lake  up  the 
cause,  and,  acting  in  conjunction 
with  tlie  young  king,  shall  establish 
the  throne  on  a  sure  footing;  and 
this  in  such  a  way,  that  never  was 
i)efore  or  ever  afterwards  shall  be 
seen  in  Sweden  so  great  a  king. 
All  the  Swedes  shall  be  happy  un- 
der him;  the  public  debts  shall  be 
paid,  he  si^.all  leave  many  millions 
in  the  treasury,  and  shall  not  die 
but  at  a  very  advanced  age  :  yet 
before  he  is  firmly  seated  on  his 
throne,  shall  an  efiusion  of  blood 
take  pla<:e  unparalleled  in  histor^^, 
— You,"  added  he,  "who  are  king 
of  this  nation,  see  that  he  is  ad- 
vertised of  these  matters  :  you  have 
seen  all:  act  according  to  your 
wisdom." 

Having  thus  said,  the  whole  va- 
nished, and  (adds  he)  we  saw  no- 
thing but  ourselves  and  our  flam- 
beaux  ;  while  the  anti-chand:)er, 
through  which  we  passed  on  re- 
turning, was  no  longer  clothed  in 
black.  "  Nous  e)ilrames  da)is  mes 
appartemens,  et  je  me  mis  aiissitot  a 
ecrire  ce  que  favois  vu  aiiisi  (pie  les 
avertissemeiits  aussi  bieti  que  je  lepuis. 
Que  ie  tout  est  vrai,  je  lejure  sur  ma 


RUSSIAN  ADMlNISTRAftOi^''^^  JUSTICE. 


109 


vie  et   man  honrieiir,  aiita/it   (pie   le  I 
Dkn  nt'aide  le  corps  et  PaTne.  ! 

"Ch  XI.  aujourcP/iui  Rvi  de  Su^de.""  | 

"Van  1601,    17  Dec." 

"  Comme  temoins  et  presents  s?/r  /es 
liens  nous  avofis  vu  tout  ce  que  S.  M. 
a  rapportt  et  nous  falfermons  p,(ir  no- 
ire serna'nt,  aitldiit  cjiie  Dieii  nous  aide 
pour  le  corps  et  Co  me.  —  H.  J. 
BjelkKjGV.  C/iaiirelicrdu  I'oijautne, 
--Bjp.LKE,Sciiti(eur,--Bii.Aiii/,>!aia- 
teury — Ax.  OxtNSTIERN,  Scudteur, 
— Petri-:  Guunsterx,  IJuissier.'" 


The  whole  sttjry  is  curious,  and 
well  vvortl»  atteniiou;  hut  unless 
the  young  king's  ghostly  represen- 
tative made  an  error  in  his  chrono- 
logical calculation,  it  will  be  dif- 
ficult to  reconcile  the  time  specified 
with  that  which  is  yet  to  come.  I 
can  offer  no  explanation,  and  be- 
queatli  tlie  whole,  like  the  hiero- 
!  glypliic  in  Moor's  Almanack,  to 
;  the  better  ingenuity  ot"  my  read- 
ers. 


RUSSIAN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


TilF,  police,  from  its  inquisitorial 
nature,  lias  infinite  sources  of  gain  ; 
they  sell  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
defraud  the  stranger,  plunder  rob- 
bers of  their  stolen  goods,  and  re- 


justice:  in  fact,  they  do  hut  follow 
the  principle  and  common  basis  of 
every  branch  of  the  Russian  go- 
vernment. 

It  will  he  sufficient  for  illustra- 


ceive  (ce^  alike  of  the  accuser  and  I  tion  of  these  circumstances,  to  re- 
the  accuseil.  Provinciai  officers  li  l&te  an  anecdote  or  two  connected 
favour  tlie  wealthy  merchant  with  'with  tlie  administration  of  justice, 
the  permission  to  introduce  con-  i;  as  being  the  most  material  of  the 
tral)and  goods;  and  again,  out  ofi^evdjfal  public  departments.  An 
the  number  of  slaves  sent  by  the  |  American  merchant  sought  redress 
seigneur  fur  the  imperial  levies,  by  law  for  some  unfair  dealings  on 
they  select  the  empty-handed  pea-  the  part  of  a  Russian  trader;  the 
sant  for  military  service*  in  the  i!  lawyer  whom  he  retainetl,  came  to 
former  case,  th.e  agents  of  the  cus-  }'  him  on  the  second  day  after  his  ap- 
tom-house  stop  in  also  for  their  due'  lication — '■  I  have, "said  he, "open- 
share  of  pillage  ;  in  the  latter,  the  ed  the  prosecution,  and  will  fairly 
surgeons    and     procureurs    follow     relate  th.e    present    state    of   vour 


pari  passu  the  example  of  ilu  ir  su- 
periors.    It  would    be   endless    to 


fS^^rtlVe  judge  says  your  cause 
seems  fair  and  equitable,  and  you 


ittempt  a  catalogue  of  their  enor-  ■  oiVer  5,{jv0  rubles  to  tlie  court;   lie 


mities,  all  oi"  which,  nevtrtheless, 
custom  has  sanctioned  with,  as  it 
were,  a  prescriptive  right.  The 
sums  paid  are  regarded  only  as  re- 
gular tVtis  or  perquisites  of  office: 
the  functionaries  themselves  have 
been  bred  up  with  the  knowledge 
of  no  other  system,  and  are  sur- 
prised to  hear  a  foreigner  say,  that 
acts  which  are  done  openly  every 
day  can  savour  of  ille-ality  or  in- 


would,  he  id(f>itk,  Wish  to  itidine  to 
your  sidfe,  lint,  oiV  ihe  oilier  Hand, 
the  defen dad t  offers  10,000.  W'hat 
can  he  dor"  I'he  Ameiricah  Ij^id 
doun  immediately  10,000 'rnbles';Tt 
was  taken  to  the  Tribunal  of  Justice. 
and  he  tritittii^h6t1 '6VcV' his  opppf 

,,.,  *    .  ,       ^       u\l     J::     •(Add 

nent.  ^ 

Another  gentlemii'n  fn^S'tufiea'a 
suit  for  the  recovery  of  a  debt,  but 
ofTerinc:   no  bribe,  the  case  was  of 


110 


THE    EMP^ROn    OF    MrjROCCO. 


course  held  to  be  perfectly  clear, 
and  he  was  non-suited  :  the  defend- 
ant, in  the  plenitude  of  victory, 
tlien  commenced  a  process  against 
liim  for  defamation,  and  damages 
were  found  to  the  amount  of 
300,000  rubles,  with  a  farther  pu- 
nishment of  a  sentence  to  clean  the 
sewers,  because,  forsooth,  it  was  a 
llussian  magistrate  whose  fair  name 
had  been  tims  brought  into  ques- 
tion by  the  object  of  the  action. 
Upon  ibis  the  gentleman  appealed 
to  a  superior  court,  but  with  ill 
success;  they  conlirmed  tiie  ver- 
ilict,  jind  still  farther  added  to  its 
iuiqtiity  by  sentencing  him  to  un- 
dergo flagellation.  Tiie  matter  now 
grew  serious,  and  be  made  appli- 
cation through  a  high  quarter  to 
t)ne  of  the  presidents  of  tbe  senate ; 
tiie  cause  was  again  heard,  but  the 
result  was  of  another  nature:  the 
sentences  of  the  former  tribunals 
were  insiaiuly  reversed,  tbe  debt 
recovered,  and  the  officers  that  had 
sat  in  judgment  on  him,  came  in  a 
body  submissively  to  beg  his  for- 
giveness, and  entreat  him  to  pur- 
sue tbe  inquiry  into  their  conduct 
no  fartlier. 

The  acts  of  injustice  were  not, 
however,  committed  merely  be- 
cause the  apj)ellants  were  foreign- 


ers; for  the  ordinary  conduct  of 
the  courts  towards  the  native  Rus- 
sians is  of  a  stamp  precisely  simi- 
lar.    A  few  years  since  a  relation 

of  Prince came  from  Moscow 

to  claim  his  patrimonial  inherit- 
ance, that  was  withheld  from  him 
by  his  guardian.  Arrived  at  Pe-, 
tersburg,  he  met  by  accident  witli 
one  of  the  highest  officers  of  the 
law  on  a  visit  at  the  house  of  a  re- 
lation, ani-',  aner  some  conversa- 
tion on  diiiereiit  matters,  ventured 
to  open  his  case  to  him  :  he  receiv- 
ed for  an  answer,  that  his  suit  might 
probably  occupy  eight  or  ten  years* 
consideration  ;  "  but,"  added  lie, 
"follow my  advice,sacrificeapartof 
your  property  to  save  the  rest,  and 
you  shall  be  put  in  possession  in 
the  course  of  as  many  days."  He 
then  wrote  down  a  list  of  lees  to  be 
paid  to  the  several  members  of  the 
court  (himself  included),  and  gave 
it  to  the  young  noblenian,  who,  on 
his  part,  obeying  this  friendly  mo- 
nitor, came  on  the  following  day 
as  plaintiff  to  the  senate  with  his 
petition,  and  presented  each  of 
these  functionaries  with  the  sum 
specified,  wrapped  up  in  the  body 
of  his  pa]>ers.  The  event  exceed- 
ed his  expectation  ;  in  four  days  an 
award  was  given  in  his  favour. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  MOROCCO. 

(Frnni  Colonel  Keatinge's  Travels  in  Europe  and  Africa.) 


Saadi  Homed  Ebn  Abuallah, 
the  present  sultan  (1735),  is  never 
seen  but  on  horseback.     Hence  it 


low  is  the  vindictive  tinge,  the 
drapery  of  Scythian  Mars,  and  said 
to  have   been  affected  by  his  ma- 


can  only  be  generally  judged  that  :  jesty's  ancestors  when  they  set  out 
lie  is  very  tall,  meagre,  and  largje-  I  upon  their  blood-letting  excur- 
boned.  When  he  goes  out  in  bis  •  sions),  drawn  by  one  horse  or  mule, 
carriage,  pi  common  English  four-  and  tbe  only  wheeled  vehicle  in  the 
wheeled  post-chaise  of  yellow  co-  country,  the  blinds  are  drawn  up. 
lour  (casually  to  be  sure,  but  yel-     Slaves  also  run  before  the  carriage. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  MOROCCO. 


Ill 


w'ltli  long  and  heavy  sticks,  to  drive 
obtruders  to  their  due  distance. 
Some  courtiers  and  relations  by 
blood,  Xeritls,  run  by  the  side  of 
it;  and  his  majesty's  negro  guards, 
on  foot,  not  in  rank  and  file,  nor  in 
mass,  but  in  an  order  somewhat 
between  the  two,  bustle  after.  Of 
course  it  will  be  perceived,  that 
exterior  dignit}-,  all  not  personally 
inherent,  is  completely  laid  aside. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  indeed  a  most 
u n regal  coWt'ij-c, and  gives  a  very  dif- 
ferent impression  from  the  mount- 
ed appearance  of  the  monarch, 
which  altogether  is  oriental  and 
military.  This  sultan  is  grandson 
of  Muley  Ishmail,  whom  he,  in  se- 
veral instances,  considerably  re- 
sembles ;  but  not,  however,  in  a 
sanguinary  disposition.  But  he  is, 
as  part  of  the  regal  office,  grand 
executioner  of  the  state:  as  in 
some  countries  the  throne  is  the 
fountain  of  mercy,  here  it  is  the 
altar  of  expiation  for  guilt.  Shoot- 
ing, beheading,  maiming,  and  dis- 


being  made  concerning  him.  The 
most  assiduous  and  dexterous  thief 
in  Tan-'iir,  was  a  man  who  had  thus 
lost  both  his  hands  by  the  stroke  of 
justice,  and  preserved  his  life  by 
the  foregoing  process.  Thus,  of 
course,  it  will  be  perceived  that  liis 
incorrigibility  uas  on  a  par  with 
his  other  qualities.  No  character 
on  classical  record  in  this  way  has,, 
ever  equalled  him,  for  the  great 
hero  of  antiquity  in  the  thieving 
line  was  eminent  by  his  physical 
forces.  As  Witherington  used  his 
stumps  to  fight  on,  so  this  bead  of 
the  profession  used  his  to  sweep 
the  loose  change  ofi"  the  shop  coun- 
ters in  the  bezaar  into  the  folds  of 
his  clothing;  and  it  may  be  sup- 
posed he  did  not  fail  to  make  good 
use  of  his  legs  while  they  were  left 
to  him.  Some  deny  the  statement, 
that  this  sultan's  hand  had  no  tinge 
of  blood  upon  it,  and  assert  tlie 
contrary  as  eye-witnesses  to  reite- 
rated instances.  Such  is  the  re- 
liance to  be  ])laced  on  human  tes- 


membering,  all  are  executed  as  the  ;  timony!  For  it  is  a  strict  tact,  that 
monarch  awards  upon  the  spot;  for  j  he  never  did  put  a  man  to  death 
he  is  always  present.  It  must  be  jj  \vith  his  own  hand.  The  real  case 
recorded  to  his  honour,  that,  con-  j|  is,  that  the  leaning  bias  of  man- 
trary  to  the  practice  of  his  prede-  kind,  narrators  and  audience,  to 
cessors,  all  these  ultimate  awards  J  the  worst  side  of  the  story,  is  such, 
aredealtoutwithamitigatcdhand.  I  that  we  may  very  logically  con- 
Thus  dismemberment  is  now  the  [  elude,  a  favourable  tale,  having 
usual  punishment  for  crimes  where-  ;  nothing  but  its  truih  to  reconunend 
by  death  is  supposed  to  be  earned,  it  to  favour,  is  most  probably  pos- 
The  hand  or  foot  is  usually  ampu-  j  sessed  of  that  ill-received  quality 
tated.     Boiling  pitch  is  the  grand  I  to    sustain    it;    although,    iudeed. 


panacea.    Surgery  is  nearly  put  on 
the  shelf  by  the  adoption  of  this 


truth  and  probability  combined  are 
unfortunately  very   feeble   powers 


mode.  It  obviates  all'necessity  fur  !  to  drag  their  charge  against  the 
bandages,  tourniquets,'  or  dress- j  force  of  the  moral  current.  This 
ings.  A  kettle  of  it  is  at  hand  over  j  may  induce  us  to  strike  offa  round 
the  fire,  the  stump  is  dipped  into  ^j  number  or  so  from  the  items  in  the 
it,  and  the  criminal  limps  off  as  :  account  against  his  majesty's  uncle 
>vellas  he  can,  no  furtlier  inquiry  and  predecessor,  Homed  Debbyj,^^ 
f'ol.  IL   No.  I  J 11.  Q. 


112 


DEGRADED    STATE    OF    THE    JEWS   IN    MOROCCO. 


but  in  regard  to  himself,  it  must 
be  admitted,  that  the  charge   has 
been  very  near  ca])ability  of  sub- 
stantiation.      Despotism    has    not 
succeeded  to  emasculate  the  Moor. 
One  of  his  officers,  thinking  him- 
self wronged    by   him,    expressed 
himself  so  firmly  in  the  royal  pre- 
sence,   that    the   sultan,    enraged, 
drew  liis  sabre,  and  cut  him  on  the 
head  with  a  so  definitively  intend- 
ed effort,  tljai  the  weapon,  by  the 
violence  of  it,  flew  out  of  his  hand. 
The  officer  took  it  from  the  ground, 
wiped,  and  presented  it  to  his  mas- 
ter to   finish  the  business;   which 
impressive  instance  of  resigned  re- 
solution so  struck  the  despot,  that 
he   relented,  sheathed   his   sword, 
and  took  him  into  favour  ever  after. 
If,  however,  he  he  compunctious  as 
to  life,  the  like  cannot  be  by  any 
means  said  in  his  praise  in  regard 
to  property;  and  as  acquisition  is 
the   predominant    passion    of    the 
Moor  (what  a  foundation  for  na- 
tional advance!)  and  he  values  his 
possession  more  than  his  life,  seve- 
ral instances  have  occurred  of  des- 
peration excited  on  such  occasions. 
Thus,  in  regard  to  court  favourites, 
so  far  as  dealings  with  foreigners 
are  concerned,  the  golden  rule  the 
sultan  acts  by  (or  he  is  foully  belied ), 
is  to  affix  a  minimum  upon  the  pos- 
sible receipts,  by  way  of  bribery  or 
otherwise,  of  those  who  have  the 
happiness  of  basking  (it  is  no  place 


for  slumbering)  in  the  sunshine  of 
his  favour;    and    he    imposes    his 
taxes  on  them  by  this  scale.     He 
thus,  at  least,  cannot  charge  them 
with  mercenary  views:    if  he  did 
so,   the}-  might  retort  with  justice 
equal  to  Ancient  Pistol  on  his  mas- 
ter, "  Didst  thou  notsliare?  Hadst 
thou  not  fifteen-pence?"  The  pre- 
sent sultan  has  a  shrewdness  not  to 
be  deceived.     He  evidently  is  of 
opinion,  that  the  worst   peoj.le  in 
his  dominions  are  those  that  aggre- 
gate ahout  Ids  own  person,  and  he 
treats  them  accordingly.    Thus  his 
chief  vengeance,  confiscation,  upon 
tiiat  most  convenient  political  prin- 
ciple (since  adopted  in  Europe)  of 
making  crimination  a  source  of  re- 
venue,  is   unremittingly  enforced 
on  them;  whereas  death,  or  corpo- 
ral suffering,   is   inflicted   on  the 
lowest    classes    with    comparative 
lightness.     In  his  various  points  of 
concurrence  with   his  predecessor 
Ishmail,  he  is  noticeable  in  think- 
ing, or  appearing  to  think,  no  trou- 
ble too  great  to  obtain  a  quiet  life 
by.     This    idea  aftbrds  a  clue,  at 
least,  to  most  of  his  habits.     Ish- 
mail, too,  concurred  with  him  in 
his  idea  of  mankind,  when  he  com- 
pared himself  and  his  subjects  to  a 


lan  carrying  rats  in  a  sack 


If 


he  do  not  keep  the  bag  continual- 
1}'  shaking,  they  will  eat  their  way 
out," 


DEGRADED  STATE  OF  THE  JEWS  IN  MOROCCO. 


Little  has  been  as  yet  said  of 
the  Jews,  frequently  as  they  pre- 
sent themselves  here  to  a  stranger's 
notice.  None  can  be  more  import- 
ant among  the  people  of  this  coun- 


try to  a  Eiiropean,  for  on  them  he 
is  obliged  in  almost  every  respect 
to  depend.  By  them  it  may  almost 
be  said  he  is  to  live.  They  afford 
a  lamentable  instance  of  the  depth 


DEGRADED   STATE    OF   THE    JEWS    IX    MOROCCO. 


113 


to  which  political  degradation  may 
morally  debase  human  nature.  The 
facts   will    speak    for   the   causes. 
Under   all   their   vexations,    their 
honourable  attachment  to  their  re- 
ligion is  as  inflexible  as  elsewhere. 
Christians   renegade  daily;   or,  if 
they  do  not,  it  is  for  want  of  en- 
couragement: but  such  a  thing  is 
unknown    among  the  Jews.     It  is 
probable,  however,  Mohommedism 
would  not  permit  itself  to  be  pol- 
luted by  the  introduction  of  a  Jew 
convert,  any  more  than    it  would 
feel atriumphin  makingone.  How- 
ever, they  perform   their  ritual   in 
their  synagogues  here,  to  the  ho- 
nour  of  the   established    religion, 
unmolested  by  outrage  or  mocker}*.  | 
Men  and  women,  at  their  service,  re-  I 
cite  prayers  with  somewhat  of  a  mu-  i 
sical  cadence,  nodding  the  head  as 
if  keeping  time.    They  have  no  ob- 
jection to  the  appearance  of  stran-  1 
gers  at   their  religious  ceremony.  , 
The  rabbi  also  reads  and  expounds  1 
to  his  flock  the  holy  writings.     It  j 
appears  as  if  with  tiiem  the  exercise  ! 
of  their  religion  was  a  compensation 
for  every  evil  in  life.     How  great, 
how  dilVusive  a  blessing  !    They  af- 
ford a  revenue  to  the  state  for  their 
toleration,   as   subjects,    paying  a  i 
capitation    tax   on    all   males  who 
iiave  reached  the  age  of  puberty. 
This  capitation  tax  is  a  kind  of  poli- 
tical protection.    They  are  at  worst 
not  the  outcasts   of  the  state,  al- 
though they  do  not  soar  to  tlie  de- 
gree of  serfage.     If  the  period  of 
payn)ent  be  disputed,  a  string  is 
put  round  the  lad's  neck,  and  after- 
wards doubled  in  length  and  put 
in    his   mouth  :   if  then,  and   thus, 
it  pass  over  the  head,  he  is  deemed 
an  object  of  taxation  ;  if  otherwise, 
not.     This  procedure  passes  under 


the  inspection  of  the  heads  of  the 
Jew  nation    here,    who   rate   each 
individual,  or  ought  to  do  so,  ac- 
cording to  his  ability   to  pay,  and 
thus  make   up   the  sum   required. 
Each  Jew  appears  in  person  to  pay 
his  quota;  and  this  being  done,  a 
Moor  touches  him  on  the  head  with 
a  switch,andsays,  *' Jump  :"  wljcre- 
on  the  Jew  goes  away.     It  is   re- 
markable   how  these  people  here 
delight  in  personal  finery,  almost 
equally  as  it  is  by  what  means  they 
acquire  or  retain   it.     Young  and 
old,  although  they  hardly  dare  ven- 
ture to  stand  still   or  look   around 
them  in   the  streets,  from  fear  of 
personal  outrage,  will  have  an  am- 
ple stock  of  splendid  clothing  (to- 
tally indiflPerent  as  to  the  selection 
or  blendings  of  costume),  in  which 
they  cannot  venture,  however,  to 
be  seen  beyond  their  own  doors! 
The  opposite  neighbours,  for  in- 
stance,  at    Mogodor,    of  this    de- 
scription, were  frequently  observed 
passing  a  whole  day,  a  sabbath  or 
!  holidayfor  instance,  on  their  hcuse- 
j  roof;  the  women  loaded  with  trin- 
'  ketsof  value,  or  glitter  at  least;  the 
men  in  velvet,  and  laced  like  Spa- 
nish   admirals,    but    their    whole 
!  clothing  from  head  to  foot  arrang- 
ed in  the  most  whimsical  combina- 
tions or  contrasts.     For   instance, 
on  a  man  a  greasy  night  cap  on  the 
I  head,  just  barely  showing   that  it 
,  had  once  been  white,  surmounted 
by  a  great  three-cocked  hat  with  a 
broad  gold  lace!    Any  one  who  has 
visited  these  countries  will  hardly 
require    to    be    ren)inded    of    the 
beauty  of  the  daughters  of  Israel. 
Ovid's  characteristics  are,  however, 
still  too  applicable.     All  have  fine 
eyes,  most  have  fine  features;  nor 
is  beautv  so  transient  a  flower  with 
Q.  2 


114 


DEGRADED  STATE  OF  THE  J^WS  IN  MOROCCO. 


thein,  or  its  loss  a  cause  of  such 
early  regret,  as  in  some  otlier  coun- 
tries.    The  matron  Jewess  has  that 
at  lier  period  of  life,  more  power- 
ful  often  singly,  than  with   youth 
on  its  side.   The  widow  often  shines 
as  preeminent  amongst  them  as  in 
trie  eyes  of  our  Scandinavian   an- 
cestors of  the  cold   shores  of  the 
Baltic.     Unfortunately,  they  seem 
to  hold   no   heauty  of  complexion 
in   estimation,  save   that  which   is 
the  result  of  their  own  labour.     In 
consequence,  the  colour-box  is  a 
greatdeal  too  much  recurred  to, and 
distant  effect  much  more   studied 
than  closer  investigation  will  bear 
out.     As  to  the  little  managements 
to  give  relief  to  the  eyes,  this  is 
no  wa}'  exceptionable;  but  the  use 
of  white  paint  is  deleterious  in  a 
high  degree.     As  before  observed, 
notwithstanding  all  this,  a  Jew  is 
not  permitted  to  appear  without- 
doors   save  in    black,  a  colour  of 
evil  omen  in  Moorish  eyes.     Avi- 
dity to  obtain,  and  art  to  conceal 
money,   are    the   main    stimuli    of 
action  with   this  people,   and    the 
tendency  of  their  industry  and  ear- 
liest education.  From  among  them, 
chiefly,  the  Christians  take  their  do- 
mestic servants;  because,  although 
not  so  cleanly,  they  are  less  scru- 
pulous ab(jut  forms  than  the  Moors. 
As  a  community,  they  are  subject 
to  every  oppression.     So  circum- 
stanced, it  is  unnecessary  to  add, 
that,  as  individuals,  they  must  of 
course  be  daily  sui)ject  to  every  in- 
jury.    A  iMussulman  child  of  eight 
years  of  age  already  begins  to  ex- 
ert his  early-felt  power  to  tyran- 
nize, and  reviles  in  premature  ma- 
lignity, by  abusing,  striking,  and 
stoning  the  Jew,  whose  hand,  he 
has   already   been    told,    if  raised 


against  him,  is  infallibly  cut  off. 
It  may  well  be  judged  what  must 
be  the  effect  upon  a  community, 
in  poijit  of  depravation,  always  to 
see  at  hand  a  people  the  ready  in- 
viters,  by  their  debased  political 
situation,  and  convenient  conduc- 
tors, of  the  ebullitions  of  the  vilest, 
but  at  the  same  time  earliest,  and 
certainly  most  universal,  emotions 
of  the  human  mind.  How  the  ty- 
rant is  dejjraded  in  the  scale  of 
human  nature,  in  comparison  with 
the  unfortunate  slave  to  whose  lot 
of  life  it  has  fallen  to  be  domineer- 
ed over!  But  Christians  and  free- 
men— so  seductive  are  example  and 
impunity — will  assume  the  Moor 
here  ;  and  so  inconsistent  is  human 
nature,  the  chivalrous  spirit  will 
then  seize  the  Mohommedan,  and 
make  him  step  forward  as  a  pro- 
tector of  the  weak  and  prostrate! 
Such  things  are ;  for  they  have  been. 
A  Moor  cannot  (and  these  are  the 
rights,  liberties,  and  privileges  of 
the  nation,  to  which  these  people 
are  as  much  attached,  and  have  as 
strong  an  impresson  of,  as  Britons 
can  for  tlie  souls  of  them  be,  or 
have,  for  theirs,)  be  put  to  death 
for  killing  a  Jew,  although  he  may 
for  killing  a  Christian,  The  one 
is  an  outcast  race  endured  for  con- 
venience ;  the  others  are  only  na- 
tural enemies — a  wide  distinction 
in  the  scale  of  human  rancour.  If 
a  Moor,  poitr  se  desemmyer,  just  for 
a  little  innocent  amusement,  he 
means  no  more,  or,  in  other  words, 
to  indulge  the  pla}^  of  malignity, 
goes  into  a  Jew's  house,  disturbs 
his  family,  and  grossly  insults  the 
women,  the  Jew  dare  not  insinuate 
to  hi;n  the  slightest  hint,  that  his 
walking:  out  as  soon  as  suited  his 
convenience  would  be  any  way  ac- 


DEGRADRD   state   of   the   jews   in   MOIIOCCO. 


115 


ceptable.  He  must  view  and  he 
conscious  of  all  without  a  frown, 
or  still  less  a  niiirinnr ;  either  would 
he  considered  and  revenged  on  the 
spot  as  an  insult,  A  Moor  may 
beat  a  Jew  as  severely  and  as  long 
as  he  pleases,  without  Ijeing  called 
on  to  assign  any  reason  for  it. 
Children  are  seen  to  strike  them  in 
the  streets,  for  passing  them  dis- 
respectfully, or,  as  they  term  it, 
giving  them  ill  treatment.  They 
are  obliged  to  walk  barefooted  by 
the  door  of  every  mosque,  and  also 
by  thoseof  the  houses  of  the  officers 
of  state,  unless  they  should  be  ele- 
vated to  the  dignity  of  a  Clirisliaii's 
servant,  in  wliich  case  they  are  ex- 
empted. Their  religion  prohibit- 
ing the  use  of  any  food  not  killed 
by  themselves  (the  iinportance  an- 
nexed to  this  process  of  human 
life  extends  amongst  other  ancient 
nations  as  well  as  this),  causes  a  po- 
sitive internal  association  amongst 
themselves,  which  is  adhered  to 
with  a  rigidity  of  which  rare  spe- 
cimens to  like  effect  can  be  boasted 
by  Christians  or  Mohommedans. 
The  .lew  interpreter  of  the  English 
embassy,  by  name  Isaac,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  law,  which  admits 
of  no  dispensations,  uould  eat  no- 
thing but  eggs  on  his  route,  from 
the  time  he  left  Morocco  until  he 
reached  Tangier;  and,  had  he  not 
met  with  them,  would  certainly 
have  died  sooner  than  have  broken 
his  fast.  The  treatment  of  this 
iiation  in  England,  mutatis  mutan- 
dis, was  little  better  than  here,  as 
may  be  seen  in  "  Anglia  Judaica,^' 
and  the  "  Chronicles."  It  is  not 
consistent  with  the  historical  dig- 
nit}-  which  ever  must  be  the  his- 
torian's first  oljject  (truth  owes 
about  as  much  to  history  as  science 


does  to  the  classics),  as  it  is  (like  the 
master's  honour  in  those  of  his  ser- 
vant, according  to  Swift,)  in  his 
hands,  to  notice  such  a  trifle  as  a 
massacre  of  eight  or  ten  thousand 
incorrigible  unbelievers,  deaf  to 
argument  and  blind  to  fact.  It  is 
therefore  useless  to  look  for  infor- 
mation in  that  quarter.  But  facts 
are  stubborn,  and  must  make  peo- 
ple weigh  well,  before  they  may 
feel  authorized  to  throw  exclusive 
censure  on  others.  But  the  mo- 
tive, to  be  sure,  was  good  :  a  mur- 
dered infant  was  found  in  a  ditch  ; 
and  this  was  Jew-work,  in  mockery 
of  cur  Saviour's  crucifixion.  En- 
gravings to  similar  elfect  are  nt  this 
moment  in  circulation  in  Spain. 
Such  is  the  cordial  propensity  to 
iiaiioo  man  on  to  persecution  1  But 
in  the  situations  now  recited,  ibis 
wretched  community  furnishes  a 
lam.entable  proof  of  the  folly  of  a 
people  venturing  upon  the  acqui- 
sition of  property,  under  any  state, 
without  being  duly  guarded  by  the 
possession  of  an  adequate  propor- 
tion of  weight  in  the  balance  of 
political  power,  whatever  form  that 
latter  may  happen  to  bear. 

Among  the  extraoriiinarv  trait* 
of  character  which  mankind  pre- 
sents, and  which  are,  perhaps,  no 
where  more  strongly  marked  than 
in  this  very  country,  and  the  ])eo- 
ple  now  under  observation,  some 
may  think  it  not  the  least  so,  that 
one  so  completely  prostrate  in  the 
dustshould  show  sentiments  of  emo- 
tion and  resentment  in  the  face  of 
power:  and  yet  such  is  tlie  incon- 
sistency of  man,  that  this  has  been 
the  case,  and  recently.  A  few 
days  before  the  arrival  of  the  em- 
bassy at  Morocco,  a  Moor  murder- 
ed a  Jewish  merchant,  cut  his  body 


116 


AFRICAN   JUGGLERS   AND   SERPENT-TAMERS. 


in  pieces,  and  threw  them  into  the 
shafts  or  ventilators  ot"  the  aque- 
ducts in  the  plain.  The  Jews  of 
Morocco,  with  a  zeal  and  energy 
hardly  to  he  expected  from  a  peo- 
ple so  circumstanced,  and  which 
show  the  stuff  yet  latent  in  the  na- 
tion, by  a  most  active  sedulous 
search,  in  spite  of  power,  awe,  or 
connivance,  discovered  the  mur- 
derer, who  was  seized  and  thrown 
into  prison,  where  it  was  intended 
to  have  punished  him,  not  capitally, 
because  in  this  respect  the  monar- 
chy is  a  limited  one,  but  by  a  se- 
vere bastinading,  which,  it  is  to 
be  observed,  may  be  so  managed 
as  to  have  all  the  effect  of  death. 
The  Jews,  however,  in  the  interim, 
under  a  strong  sense  of  the  wrong 
sustained,  collected  in  crowds  a- 
round  the  palace,  and  clamoured 
for  justice.  Inclined  towards  the 
heaven-descended  principle  as  the 
sultan  then  was,  when  his  ears 
were  assailed  by  this  unaccustomed 
sound,  and  he  learned  that  it  was 
these  infidels  who  had  dared  to 
raise  their  voices  around  the  pre- 
cints  of  royalty,  he  ordered  his 
guards  forthwith  to  beat  them  home 
to  their  quarter;   an  order  which 


they  had  a  great  deal  too  much  at 
heart  not  to  execute, con  amove,  with 
an  unmerciful  punctuality  of  obe- 
dience and  energy.     And  to  their 
quarter  they   were,  for  this  indis- 
cretion, confined  on  the  arrival  of 
the  embassy  in  this  city;  in  conse- 
quence of  which  its  throngs  sur- 
passed imagination.     The  oppor- 
I  tunity  was  not  omitted  of  imposing 
j  a  heavy  fine  on  them.    Crimination 
j  a  source  of  public  revenue,  delin- 
1  quency  an  object  of  fosterage  as 
i  a  prop   of  the  state,  private  vices 
t  public    benefits,    all    the    political 
'Jesuitry  of  Europe,  will  meet  coun- 
i  tenance  on  this  side  of  the  Straits. 
All   labours  here  beneath  Mohom- 
medans  devolve  on  the  Jews  ;  such, 
for  instance,  as  carrying  a  Chris- 
j  tian    through  the  surfs  of  the  At- 
I  lantic,  burying  executed  criminals, 
supplying  the  calls  of  the  mena- 
gerie;   in    fact,    whenever  power 
has  a   call   for   a  scavenger,   that 
office  devolves  upon  the  Jew.     It 
does  not  require  so  strong  a  picture 
as   that  of  a   Jew  of  Morocco   to 
make  a  Briton's  mind  revolt  at  the 
idea  of  slavery,  nor  is  conternpt  a 
just  sentiment  towards  the  wretch- 
ed beinss  so  enthralled. 


AFRICAN  JUGGLERS  AND  SERPENT-TAMERS. 


Amongst  other  visitants  to  the 
embassy,  at  leisure  hours,  was  a 
juggler.  He  had  live  serpents  in 
a  leathern  budget:  these  he  had 
made  docile,  and  when  enlarged, 
they  meandered  about  the  floor, 
keeping  an  harmonic  action  of  ca- 
dence to  the  sound  of  his  tabor  and 
pipe.  And  he  also  bore  upon  his 
bare  shaven  head  scorpions  nestled 
under  his  turban,  which  ran  in  and 
out  at  the  word  of  command  ;  and 


he  flourished  his  cups  and  balls 
with  as  much  dexterity  as  is  seen 
in  Europe.  His  serpents  were  of 
various  descriptions;  some  such, 
indeed,  as  have  baffled  all  subse- 
quent inquiry.  Probably  they 
could  be  found,  were  the  special 
distinctives  given,  in  the  catalogue 
of  those  Libyan  reptiles  transmit- 
ted to  us  by  Lucan.  All  that  could 
be  done  on  the  occasion,  in  the 
way   of  ascertainment,    amounted 


AFRICAN   JUGGLERS   AND   SERPENT-TAMERS. 


117 


only  to  prove  that  they  were  of  the 
deal  avltler  species;  for  they  did  in 
good  sooth  listen  to  the  voice  of 
the  cliariuer,  althougli  the  wisdom 
of  liis  charming  uas  not  powerful 
enou<>h  to  touch  dull  mortal  ears. 
Certainly  tiie  manner  in  which 
these  animals'  organs  are  affected 
by  harmonic  sounds,  is  very  curi- 
ous. 

The    serpent-tamers,    who    are 
somcwliat  distinct  from   tlie   jug- 
glei>,  although  the  two  professions 
are  by  no  means  incompatible,  ex- 
hibit in  the  streeis  to  a  circle  ot 
spectators.     They  take  from  a  lea- 
thern budget,  as  before  mentioned, 
seven    or  eight  of  these  animals, 
which  writhe  around,  whilst  their 
master  seems  to  hold  with  them  a 
kind  of  discourse,  which  allords  en- 
tertainment,  apparently,   to   such 
who  have  the  p-ood  fortune  to  nn- 
derstand  it.     At  intervals,  the  man 
plays  and  sounds  on  a  small  flageo- 
let,  to  which  he  makes  motions  of 
his  body  as  if  intended  to  imitate 
dancing.     Part  of  what  he  did  was 
evidently    to    irritate   the    reptile, 
which  darted  and   bit  at  him  with 
the  greatest  fury,   whilst  he  han- 
dled and  threw  him  about  with  per- 
fect unconcern.    One  of  these  ani- 
mals was  truly  malignity  personi- 
fied.    It  would  he  hardly  |)ossible 
for  the  ablest  pencil  to  put  into  the 
worst  of  human  or  diabolical  piiy- 
siognomies,    malignity   exceeding 
that  which  is  the  impression  of  this 
outcast  of  creation.     He  advances 
obliquely  and  insidiously  with  the 
curvature  of  the  body  in  front,  to 
ensure  his  object,  before  he  shows 
his  teeth ;  and  his  eye  ever  indicates 
him  possessed  of  design  and  incli- 
nation to  use  them  to  otliers'  de- 
struction.    Another  is  black,  and 


as  harndess  as  Ancient  Pistol  ;  al- 
though it  would   not  be  altogether 
discreet  to  warrant  the  security  of 
a  Barbary  hen  within  reach  of  his 
fangs.    This  reptile  but  half  claims 
the  name,  for  it  keeps  nearly  that 
proportion   of   the   length    of   the 
body  erect.     It  has  a  very  small 
proportionate   head    (the  converse 
is  the  indicative  of  poison),  and  its 
sense   of   self-importance    inflates 
the  neck  to   a  degree  that   might 
cause  it  to  be  thought  immediate 
apoplexy  must  ensue.     It  is  thus 
broadened,  and  proportionably,  to 
appearance,  flattened  to  the  shape 
of  the  feather-edged  part  of  an  oar. 
This  species  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
hieroglyphics  of  Egypt.    The  ser- 
pent   tribe    certainly    possesses   a 
great  proportion  of  n)ind,  bad  and 
indiflferent.    The  largest  of  all  the 
various  kinds  seen  exhibited,  were 
six  feet  long  and  about  four  inches 
in    diameter.     The   sound    of  the 
pipe  draws    the  serpent  from  his 
retreat.     The  poison,  they  say,  is 
extracted  from  their  fangs  b}-  cot- 
ton-balls given  them  to  bite  on,  and 
'  it  takes  time  to  form  anew. 
!      These  exhibitors  are  not  to   be 
confounded  with  the  sectarians  of 
Sidua   Ayssa     (literaliy   our    Lord 
I  Jesus),    who    are    frequently    met 
!  with,  having  enormous  vipers  coil- 
j  ed  round   their   arms,   necks,   and 
I  bodies.    They  are  denominated  af- 
!  ter  their  founder  Ayssa,  a  Scythic 
I  term,  honorific,  and  in  the  sense  of 
saadi  or  lord.  These  say,  that  their 
founder  endowed  them  with  power 
over  all  venomous  animals.     They 
certainly  have  command  of  thenj. 
W'itli  a  witless  kind  of  wit,  express- 
ed by  a   broad   unmeaning   stare, 
they  thrust  the  animal,  whic'.i  seems 
stnpihed,  in  the  faces  of  such  as  are 


118 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


inadvertent  enoug!)  to  admit  their 
approach.  They  bear  a  strange 
appearance,  with  their  long,  mea- 
gre, naked  limbs,  fatuitous  coun- 
tenances, and  hali"  a  dozen  of  these 
animals  of  large  size  twining  and 
hanging  around  them.  This  sect 
is  distinguished  by  wearing  a  white 
cap,  while  the  other  Moors  wear 
red  ones.  Once  in  the  year  these 
enthusiasts  (they  have  not  yet  as- 
pired to  fanaticism)  have  their  ge- 
neral meeting,  which  it  is  a  service 
of  danger  to  ap|)roach.  Indeed 
about  that  season  they  are  not 
safely  to  be  met  individual!}'.  They 
then  seem  really  possessed,  and 
are  the  most  dangerous  of  maniacs. 


They  fly  at  and  tear  with  their 
teeth  every  object  that  they  come 
across,  animate  or  inanimate,  that 
offends  or  excites  their  fancies.  A 
band  of  them  once  attacked  the 
houseof  a  British  merchant  at  Tan- 
gier; and  although  the  inmates 
made  a  good  defence,  they  would 
have  been  all  destroyed  had  there 
not  happeiuid  to  have  been  in  the 
house  some  powerful  mastiffs  of 
true  English  breed,  which,  being 
unchained  against  these  naked 
wretches,  soon  brought  them  to 
their  right  senses  by  pinning  them 
to  the  ground,  to  the  general  satis- 
faction of  the  peaceably  inclined 
of  every  sect. 


PLATIL  10. —  EVENING  DRESS. 
A  GOWN  of  white  soft  satin,  cut 
low  all  round  the  back  and  bosom. 
The  skirt  gored,  and  a  good  deal 
of  fulness  thrown  behind.  The 
body,  which  is  disposed  in  small 
plaits,  displays  the  shape,  as  our 
readers  will  perceive  bv  our  print, 
to  very  great  advantage;  it  is 
trimmed  round  the  bosom  with  a 
wreath  of  small  white  net  roses, 
with  a  little  tuft  of  pearl  in  the 
heart  of  each.  Long  loose  sleeve, 
composed  of  wliite  lace,  and  finish- 
ed a  la  Parlsieiiiie  with  a  rich  dou- 
ble frill  of  lace  at  tlie  wrists.  The 
skirt  is  ornamented,  in  an  exqui- 
sitely tasteful  style,  with  a  broad 
flounce  of  rich  blond,  surmounted 
by  a  wreath  of  roses  and  deep  scol- 
lops of  white  net,  the  points  of 
which  are  finisiietl  by  bows  of  white 
gatin    ribbon.     The  effect  of  this 


FASHIONS. 

LONDON    FASHIONS. 

trimming  is  uncommonly  beautiful. 
Hair,  cropped  and  curled  full  in 
the  back  of  the  neck,  and  dressed 
light,  and  much  parted  on  the  fore- 
head :  it  is  ornamented  with  a  su- 
perb white  ostrich-plume,  at  the 
base  of  which  is  an  aigrette  of  dia- 
monds. Neck-lace,  ear-rings,  and 
bracelets  also  of  diamond.  White 
satin  slippers,  and  white  kid  gloves. 

We  have  to  thank  the  conde- 
scension of  a  lady  of  much  cele- 
brity in  the  fashionable  world,  to 
whom  we  are  indebted  for  a  sight 
of  the  very  elegant  and  tasteful 
dress  from  which  our  present  print 
is  designed. 

PLATK  11. — WALKING  DRESS. 

Round  dress,  composed  of  cam- 
bric, and  trimmed  with  lace.  The 
body  is  let  in  with  a  profusion  of 
lace.  Plain  long  sleeve,  very  full, 
except  at  the  wrist,  where  theful- 


IS^71Era2^€r       ]D>]RE,S§  , 


TlaUll.  rpl. 


GENKUAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND    DRESS. 


119 


ness  is  confined  by  small  plaits: 
the  sleeve  is  finished  by  a  double 
frill  of  lace.  Over  this  dress  is  a 
pelisse  of  blue  and  white  shot  sars- 
net,  lined  with  white  sarsnet,  and 
triinined  with  white  satin.  F(jr  the 
form  of  the  pelisse  we  refer  our 
renders  to  our  print.  The  sleeve, 
u  liich  is  very  full,  is  finished  at  the 
w  rist  by  a  cutf  and  bows  of  ribbon. 
'i'he  pelisse  is  made  half  high,  and 
finished  at  the  neck  by  a  triple  fall 
of  rich  lace:  the  throat  is  bare. 
^Vhite  satin  hat,  of  a  form  uncom- 
monly novel  and  elegant ;  it  is  turn- 
ed up  a  little  in  I'ront,  which  gives 
it  an  air  of  peculiar  smartness,  and 
ornamented  with  Mowers,  disposed 
in  a  very  novel  and  tasteful  style. 
White  kid  gloves,  and  blue  kid 
shoes.     Parasol  to  correspond. 

We  are  indebted  for  this  tasteful  ■ 
dress  to  Mrs.  Gill,  of  Cork-street, 
Burling  ton -Gardens. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON 
FASHION    AND    DRESS. 

Our  fair  readers  will  perceive 
by  our  print,  that  pelisses  are  still 
considered  as  elegant  for  the  pro- 
menade costume  :  cambric  walking 
dresses,  profusely  trin)med  with 
lace,  are  also  in  high  estimatiot). 
We  were  particularly  pleased  with 
one  which  a  lady  of  distinction  took 
with  her  some  days  ago  to  Paris. 
The  skirt  was  trimmed  with  three 
rows  of  cambric  Vandykes,  edged 
I  with  narrow  lace,  and  finished  by 
a  heading,  which  was  also  edged 
with  lace;  the  heading  is  drawn  in 
three  places  with  fine  bobbin,  and 
the  drawings  are  put  very  close 
together.  The  body  is  made  up  to 
the  throat,  and  that  part  of  it  which 
shades  the  bust  is  composed  of  nar- 
row bands  of  caii)bric  and  letting- 
Vol.  11.  No.  nil. 


in  lace,  set  in  in  the  form  of  van- 
dykes;  and  the  lower  part  of  cam- 
bric only,  made  tight  to  the  sha])0, 
but  with  three  small  plaits  put  to- 
gether, and  then  a  plain  space  of 
about  two  inches  between.  A  plain 
long  sleeve,  with  lace  let  in  byas, 
made  very  loose,  but  confined  at 
the  wrist  by  three  drawings,  each 
of  which  is  edged  with  narrow  lace. 
There  is  no  ruff  worn  with  this 
dress,  but  it  is  finished  at  the  throat 
by  a  triple  row  of  vandyked  lace, 
exquisitely  fine,  but  not  broad, 
which  falls  over  and  leaves  the 
throat  bare.  This  dress  has  more 
of  novelty  than  any  we  have  seen 
for  some  time,  and  may  be  consi- 
dered as  a  very  elejrant  dishabille. 
When  worn  for  the  promenade,  a 
long  white  lace  veil  is  thrown  over 
the  bonnet,  or  a  silk  scarf  over  the 
shoulders. 

The  favourite  walking  bonnets 
are  still  composed  of  straw  or  Leg- 
horn. We  have  perceived  no  al- 
teration in  their  shapes  since  last 
month,  but  feathers  have  become 
much  less  general:  our  fair  fashion- 
ables now  wear  either  plain  straw- 
colour  ribbon,  or  else  a  bunch  of 
flowers  d  la  Fraiicoise,  in  tlie  style 
of  the  very  elegant  bonnet  which 
we  have  given  in  our  print. 

Since  writing  the  above,  we  have 
been  favoured  with  a  sight  of  the 
prettiest  sununer  bonnet  we  have 
seen  for  some  years  :  it  is  composed 
of  fine  clear  muslin,  the  crown 
round,  rather  broad  at  top,  but  not 
high  ;  the  front,  which  is  very  deep, 
shades,  without  concealing-,  the 
face,  and  is  finished  by  a  row  of 
broad  fine  lace  set  on  very  full. 
The  shape  of  the  bonnet  is  formed 
by  drawings  of  white  satin  ribbon, 
and  it  is  ornamented  at  the  side  bv 
R 


120 


GENERAL   OliSEIlVATIONS    ON   FASHION    AND   DRESS. 


a  bunch  of  roses  only.  We  under- 
stand that  it  was  made  from  one  of 
her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess 
Charlotte's;  it  is  certainly  an  ele- 
gant, simple,  and  tasteful  bonnet, 
and  will,  we  liave  no  doul)t,  conti- 
nue a  favourite  during  the  summer 
months. 

We  have  little  alteration  to  no- 
tice in  the  carriage  costume  since 
last  month :  scarfs  are  still  very 
much  worn,  butthe  Princess  Mary's 
bonnet  and  spenser  are  higher  in 
estimation.  The  spenser  is  singu- 
larly pretty  ;  it  i:i  composed  of  blue 
satin,  and  trimmed  with  an  inter- 
mixture of  white  satin  and  blue 
crape,  which  forms  the  prettiest 
fancy  trimming  vve  have  ever  seen. 
The  back  is  of  a  moderate  breadth 
and  plain  at  top,  but  has  a  little 
fulness  at  the  bottom  of  the  waist: 
the  sleeve,  which  is  plain,  falls  \ery 
little  off  the  shoulder:  there  is  a 
small  cape,  something  in  the  form 
of  a  half-handkerchief,  but  very 
small,  which  comes  only  to  the 
shoulder  in  front.  The  bonnet  is 
composed  of  white  satin  and  let- 
ting-in  lace;  its  shape  is  that  of  a 
small  French  bonnet,  but  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  lace  is  let  in  gives 
it  a  novel  appearance:  it  is  trim- 
med with  a  large  bouquet  of  dif- 
ferent flowers,  and  tied  untler  the 
chin  by  a  wliite  satin  ribbon. 

We  observe  tliat  backs  of  im- 
mense brea(hh,  and  sleeves  falling 
entirely  off  tlie  shoulder,  are  ex- 
ploded ;  backs  are  now  made  a  mo- 
derate breadth,  and  the  sleeve  just 
touches  the  shoulder:  this  altera- 
tion is  certainly  for  the  better,  be- 
cause it  dis])lays  the  beauty  of  the 
shape,  which  has  been  rather  dis- 
guised by  the  manner  in  whicli 
dresses  were  cut  some  monihs  buck. 


In  dinner  dress,  India  muslin, 
and  slight  plain  and  striped  sars- 
nets,  are  much  in  request,  as  is  also 
spotted  silk.  Three-quarter  high 
dresses,  trimmed  round  the  bosom 
with  a  triple  fall  of  lace,  or  low 
dresses  with  the  Jjclni  a  la  Duchesse 
de  Berri,  are  generally  adopted  in 
dinner  dress:  i\\\s Jichu,  which  is 
composed  enllrely  of  lace,  conves 
nearly  to  the  throat,  and  is  finished 
by  a  double  quilling  of  lace.  Long 
sleeves  are  very  generally  adopted 
in  dinner  dress.  Trimmings  have 
not  varied  since  last  montli. 

The  patronage  afforded  by  our 
illustrious  princesses  to  British 
manufactures  is  an  example  well 
worthy  of  the  imitation  of  the  no- 
bility; it  is  at  present  partially, 
and  we  hope  will  soon  be  generally, 
followed. 

As  our  fair  readers  may  be  gra- 
tified by  a  description  of  the  dress 
worn  by  her  Royal  Highness  the 
Princess  Mary  on  her  nuptials,  we 
subjoin  an  account  of  it.  The  dress 
is  composed  of  silver  tissue,  su- 
perbly trimmed  with  two  flounces 
of  scolloped  lama,  worked  in  pine- 
apple pattern,  each  flounce  headed 
with  three  weltings  of  lama-work. 
The  body  and  sleeves,  which  are 
worked  to  correspond, are  trimmed, 
in  a  style  perfectly  novel,  with  beau- 
tiful Brussels  point  lace.  The  robe 
of  silver  tissue  is  lined  with  white 
satin,  and  trimmed  round  with  a 
most  superb  border  of  lama- work, 
which  corresponds  with  the  dress; 
it  fastens  at  the  waist  by  a  superb 
diamond  clasp.  Her  Royal  High- 
ness's  diamonds  were  peculiarly- 
fine;  her  head-dress  in  particular, 
which  consisted  of  a  superb  wreath 
of  diamonds,  was  much  admired  ; 
and  the  general  effect  of  her  dr^ss 


FASHIONABLE    rUHNITUIlE. 


121 


was  strikingly  beautiful.  In  the 
choice  of  her  bridal  atiire,  her  Roy- 
al Highness  has  displayed  that  elc- 
gaiit  siinj)liii;.y  of  taste  for  which 
she  iias  always  been  distiriguished, 
and  though  the  materials  were  the 
most  magnificent  thiitcould  be  [)ro- 
curcd,  there  was  nothing  glaring, 
nothing  heavy  in  the  totif-ensemble, 
which  was  at  once  tasteful,  elegant, 
and  suj)crb. 

Full  dress,  except  what  is  worn 
at  court,  which,  in  honour  of  her 
Royal  Higlmess  the  Princess  Ma- 
ry's nuptials,  is  peculiarly  brilliant, 
is  at  present  simply  elegant,  rather 
than  magnificent,  ^\'hite  net,  rich- 
ly embroidered  either  in  white  or 
coloured  silk,  is  in  very  high  esti- 
mation;  white  satin,  trimmed  with 
blond,  and  white  and  coloured 
crapes  and  gauzes,  arc  also  in  re- 
quest. Embroidery  is  a  great  deal 
worn,  as  are  also  painted  gauze  or 
crape  trimmings ;  and  we  have  seen 
some  elegant  ball  dresses  orna- 
mented with  wreaths  of  myrtle 
leaves,  composed  of  green  crape. 
Long  sleeves  still  continue  ex- 
tremely fashionable  in  full  dress; 
it  is  true  they  are  always  composed 
of  crape,  lace,  or  gauze,  but  how- 
ever light  the  material,  the}-  are 
certainly  not  appropriate  to  full 
dress.     When  the  sleeve  is  worn 


short  it  is  always  very  full,  and  in 
general  of  a  noderate  length.  'l"'here 
is  no  other  alteration  in  the  make 
of  dresses,  than  those  ue  have  al- 
ready noticed  in  speaking  of  morn- 
ing dress.  The  royal  brace  ( onti- 
nucs  as  much  a  favourite  as  ever. 

The  Princess  Mary's  mob,  com- 
posed of  white  lace,  and  ornament- 
ed with  fancy  flowers,  is  in  the 
highest  estimaiion  for  half-dress. 
This  very  becoming  cap  is  cut  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  display  all  the 
front  hair,  which  is  dressed  in  'igjit 
loose  curls  on  the  forehead.  Tiie 
ends,  whicli  fasten  under  i;;e  chin, 
are  very  narrow,  as  is  also  the  lace 
border,  which  is  set  on  plain,  ex- 
cept on  the  forehead,  where  it  is 
very  full.  This  elegant  cao  is  tl.e 
only  novelty  in  half-drci^s  since 
last  month. 

There  has   been    no   change   in 
hair-dressing,  nor  in  ornaments  for 
the  hair  in  full  dress,  since  our  last 
number. 
I      In  half- dress  jewellery,  we  o!)- 
■  serve  that  white   cornelian    orna- 
ments,  ii.iermixed   wit'.i  gold,  aie 
in  very    high  esLimation.      There 
j  has  been   no  change  in   full-dress 
I  jewellery  since  last  monih. 
I      Fashionable  colours  for  the  month 
j  are,  green, celestial  blue,  straw-co- 
i  lour,  pale  pink,  and  hlac. 


FASHIONABLE  FURNITURE. 

PLATE    8. — DINING-ROOM    WINDOV.-CURTAINS. 

Perhaps  no  furniture  is  more  i  colours,   produced   a   charm  th;\t 


decorative  and  graceful  than  that 
of  which  draijeries  form  a  consi- 


brought   them    into   high    repute, 
but   eventually   occasioned    their 


derablc  part :  the  easy  disposition  ;.  use  in  so  liberal  a  dfgree,  as  in 
of  the  folds  of  curtains  and  otlicr  j  many  instances  to  bave  clothed 
hangings,  the  sweep  of  the  lines  up  the  ornamented  walls,  and  in 
composing  their  forms,  and  the  \\  others  they  have  been  substituted 
harmonious  combinations- of  their  il  entirely  for  their   more  genuine 

r'2 


122 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


decorations,  by  which  the  rooms 
obtained  tiie  air  of  a  mercer's  or 
draper's  shop  in  full  display  of  its 
merchandize,  rather  than  the  well- 
imagiued  and  correctly  designed 
apartment  of  a  British  edifice:  in- 
deed, to  so  great  an  excess  was 
the  system  of  ornamental  finishing 
by  drapories  carried,  that  it  be- 
came tlie  usual  observation  of  a 
celebrated  amateur  in  this  way, 
that  he  would  be  quite  satisfied  if 
a  well-proportioned  barn  was  pro- 
vided, and  he  would  in  a  week 
convert  it,  by  such  means,  into  a 
drawinsj-room  of  the  first  style  and 
fashion.  So  lon<;-  as  novelty  fa- 
voured the  application,  this  redun- 
dance was  tolerated;   but  time  has 


brought  the  uses  of  these  draperies 
to  their  proper  office  of  conform- 
ing to  the  original  design,  consist- 
ing of  those  architectural  combi- 
nations that  possess  a  far  greater 
beauty,  dignity,  and  variety,  than 
draperies  are  capable  of  affording. 
The  annexed  plate  represents  part 
of  a  dining-room,  in  which  cur- 
tains are  so  introduced,  that  the 
forms  of  the  piers,  imposts,  and 
architraves,  are  not  concealed  by 
their  projections,  but  in  which 
they  most  elegantly  occupy  the 
station  and  quantity  of  space  that 
properly  belong  to  them.  This 
furniture  has  been  executed  by 
Mr.  G.  Bullock. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Mr.  AcKEiiMAJ^N  will  publish,  in 
the  early  part  of  August,  the  whole- 
length  Portrait  of  H.  S.  H.  the 
Prince  of  Saxe-Coburg,  engraved 
by  Mayer,  after  the  picture  paint- 
ed by  A.  Chalon.  That  of  H.  R.  H. 
the  Princess  Charlotte  is  in  great 
forwardness,  and  is  expected  to 
be  ready  in  the  course  of  Septem- 
ber. 

Mr.  Ackermann  has  also  in  great 
forwardness  two  larpfc  views  of  the 
Exterior  of  the  Royal  Exchange, 
from  Cornhill,  and  the  Bank  of 
England, from  the  corner  of  Sweet- 
ing's-alley.  They  will  appear, 
beauiifully  coloured,  in  the  be- 
ginning ui"  August. 

Tiie  Memoira  of  Mr.  Sheridan, 
drawn  from  original  documents, 
and  illustrated  by  his  own  corre- 
spondence and  that  of  his  friends, 
with  t;ie  hititory  ol"  his  family,  wiij 
appear  in  tlie  course  of  the  pre- 
sent month,  from  the  pen  of  Dr. 
Watkins. 


Jlie  Spanish  Dictionary  of  New- 
man greatly  improved  by  Mr. 
Brown,  which  has  been  so  long  in 
the  press,  is  now  nearly  completed. 
The  number  of  words  added  ex- 
ceeds three  thousand,  including 
all  the  terms  of  art,  manufactures, 
and  commerce,  many  of  which  are 
to  be  found  in  no  other  dictionary 
whatever. 

The  author  of  the  History  of  the 
House  of  Romanof,  &c.  has  in  the 
press,  Thoughts  on  the  Poor  Laws, 
and  on  the  improvement  of  the  Con- 
dition and  Morals  of  the  Poor. 

On  Thursday,  July  11,  the  lord 
mayor,  aldermen,  and  common 
council,  with  a  great  number  of 
the  nobility  and  gentry,  met  at 
Guildhall  to  witness  the  presenta- 
tion oi'  the  freedom  of  the  city,  in 
boxes  made  of  heart  of  oak,  of 
the  value  of  100  guineas,  to  the 
Dukes  of  Kent,  Sussex,  and  Glou- 
cester,  and   the  Prince    Coburg, 


POETRY. 


\23 


After  the  performance  of  the  ce- 
remony of  being  sworn  in,  and  the 
freedoms  and  boxes  were  present- 
ed, in  the  common  hall,  the  cham- 
berlain conducted  the  royal  visit- 
ors to  liis  parlour,  to  see  the  du- 
plicates of  tlie  honorary  freedoms 
and  thanks  for  a  succession  of 
years.  The  writer  of  them  being 
in  the  room,  the  chamberlain,  in 
his  usual  handsome  manner,  was 
pleased  to  introduce  Mr.  Tomkins 
in  terms  higbly  respectable  and 
gratifying-.  7'he  Duke  of  Sussex, 
after  many  observations,  asked  if 
till'  freedoms  in  that  room  were  all 
written  by  one  hand,  and  how  ma- 
ny years  from  the  commencement  r 
When  his  royal  highness  was  told 
by  Mr.  Tomkins  ever  since  1776, 
he  replied,  "  You  must  have   felt 


youjself  very  happy  in  having  had 
it  in  your  power  to  transmit  to 
posterity,  in  so  ingenious  and  taste- 
ful a  manner,  records  so  honour- 
able to  this  country,  and  to  the 
distinguished  and  revered  cha- 
racters who  have  so  nobly  exert- 
ed their  exalted  talents  in  its  ser- 
vice." The  Dukes  of  Kent  and 
Gloucester,  and  Prince  of  Coburg, 
each  expressed  their  surprise  "  at 
the  beautiful  variety  displayed  in 
the  designs,  and  the  powers  of  the 
pen ;"  and  concluded  "  by  con- 
gratulating the  cliamberlain  in 
possessing  the  most  interesting 
room,  to  a  commercial  city,  in  all 
Europe."  There  are  fifty  of  these 
splendid  ornaments,  chronologi- 
cally arranged.  The  first  six  writ- 
ten were  unfortunately  burnt. 


poetrj). 


EXTRACTS  FROM  "  THE  RIVAL 
ROSKS:" 

A  Poem,  hy  Rli7..\  vS.  Fkancis,  Author  of 
"Sir  WiLiuERT  Dt  \Va  veulky,  01-  The 
Bridal  Eve." 

The  clioicT,  reireal  otTsadore 

Was  an  okl  and  mouldeiing  tdwer: 

In  rude  heaps,  rough  IragmtriUs  lay. 

And  broken  columns  strew'd  the  way  ; 

Whde  rapid  DcMvveiil'.s  dashing  wave 

Rertecitd  in  his  silver  tide 
The  pile  his  waters  loved  to  lave, 

With  antitjue  arches'  ruiu'd  pride. 
Reclining  on  a  pedestal, 

That  once  a  war-plum'd  statue  bore. 
Seeming  to  mark  the  river's  swell. 

Or  gaze  upon  ih'  indented  shore. 
With  musing  air  the  maiden  stood; 
Yet  thought  slie  not  of  Derweni's  flood, 
Nor  mark'il  his  winding  hank  so  crieon; 
Its  varied  bfauues  \vere  unseen. 
Her  radiant  lucks  of  waving  gold. 

Floated  npiin  the  buoyant  gale. 
Which  first  displaced  tlit  graceful  fold, 

Then  wafted  yif  her  light-wove  veil; 


idc,      "^ 

''  .      C 

spied. ^ 


No  friendly  shade  remain'd  to  hide, 
Ofjoy  and  love,  the  vei  ineil  tide. 
When  Armyn's  graceful  form  she  sp 
He  view'd  her  o'er  with  kindling  eye. 
Then  eagfci  spoke  with  ardoiir  high; 
"  What  secret  cause,  O  maid  divine! 
Could  make  that  orient  blush  ari.se  ? 
And  wlience  tlu'  brilliant  beam-i  that  shine 
Within  those  tv»i  -charming  eyes  ? 
'  Tavus  not  didain,  .-ay  was  it  joy  ? 
My  fears  relieve,  or  hopes  destrcy  !" 
Confused,  surprised,  tlie  you; h fid  fair 
Bliish'd  as  his  tale  of  love  he  t<d<l: 
No  moie  he  wore  a  brow  of  care, 
.A  brighter  future  ."-eemed  unroll'd; 
For  all  deceis  all  art  above. 
The  blooming  inaiden  oun'd  her  love. 
Then  Armyn  vovv'd,  "  Tliy  roiling  tide, 
Oh!   rnp'd  Derwent,  flows  away, 
And  yonder  towci's  st;\!ely  pride 
Now  sinks  in  ruinous  d(c;iv: 
But,  oh!   my  love  shall  fiinily  stem 
The  tide  ol  ili,  or  stream  o*  w  ^e, 
And,asy  >n  watch-ligiil'stlu.teringname, 


124 


POETRY. 


Thro'  life's  dark  scenes  shall  brightly 
t;lo\v  ; 
And  ne'er  will  absence  have  the  power 

To  make  my  love  for  thee  decay. 
Yet,  oh!   dear  beauteous  Isadore, 

No  more  at.  Glenrnore  can  I  stay — 
To-morrow  I  must  hence.'' — The  maid 

Averted  then  her  tear-dew'd  face; 
He  sdii.hed  Ikt  iear.^,  and  hush'd  her  grief, 
Bnatlied    hopes  that  time  would   bring 
rclirf, 

And  clafe|)'d  her  in  a  f  nd  embrace. 
With  blushes,  buisliiig  from  his  arms. 

She  bade  a  hasiy  sweet  farewell; 

Then,  with  a  siiih  that  seemed  to  tel! 
All  love's  regrets  and  fend  alarms. 

As  shoots  a  silver  s'ar  its  ray, 

When  dariinii  ihrough  the  sky. 

Its  falling  ^lnries  glancing  play — 
Friiin  the  rapt  miiistrel's  gazing  e}  e 

The  beauteous  maiden  fled  away  ! 

Canto  i. 


DESCRIPTION   OF   EDWARD    THE    FOUIiTH. 

Few  were  the  dames  that  could  defy 
The  radiance  of  young  Edward's  eye. 
Where  brightly  arch,  or  gaily  wild. 
The  playful  Loves  encurtain'd  smiled. 
Oh  !  who  could  meet  his  glances  warm. 
Or  view  his  tall  majestic  form; 
Could  mark  that  fonn's  attractive  grace, 
And  scan  the  wonders  of  his  face. 
That  t()  brave  Edward  could  be  cold, 
ir  fuim'd  of  less  than  icV  iTiould  ? 
But  while  his  words  in  ardent  flow. 
Gave  to  her  cheek  a  livelier  glow. 
Fair  Isadore's  cold  air  repress'd 
The  hopes  which  flutler'd  in  his  breast. 
Yet  not  of  ice  ihe  maiden's  heart, 
Well  kni'W  the  fair  Love's  potent  art ; 
Kemetnbrance  of  the  minsti-el's  charms, 
The  prince  of  power  to  please  disarms, 
His  image  still  triuntphant  reigns. 
And  entpiie  o'er  her  heart  maintains. 

Canto  iv. 


■MAI^GARET    OF    ANJOU. 

As  once,  wc  read,  on  Ilium's  sacred 
plain. 


In  pomp  of  power,  the  queen  of  battles 

stood. 
With  her  own  hand  increased  the  heaps 

of  siain. 
And  of  Troy's  chieftains  spilt  the  bravest 

blood  : 
So  Anjou^s  princess  in  the  fight  appears, 
Nohostshedreadsjiiohero'sarm  she  fears; 
Like  Pallas  self,    great  Margaret  seems 

to  stand. 
The  falchion  waving  in  her  lifted  hatid; 
And  o'er  her  brow,  with  snowy  feathers 

graced. 
The  beamy  helm  in  shining  pomp  was 

placed. 
"On,  my  brave  troops !"  with  thrilling 

voice  she  cries. 
While  fiery  ardour  darted  from  her  eyes; 
"Let  the  Hed  Rose,  once  more  triumphant, 

hail 
The  final  downfall  of  its  rival  pale; 
Let  Lancaster's  deep  wrongs  your  zeal 

inspire, 
Itjflame  your  foice,  and  kindle  all  your 

fire  ! 
For  Margaret  leads  you,  in  whose  daunt- 
less breast 
No  coward  dread,  but  hope  and  valour 

rest!" 
Her  shouting  host  her  high  behest  obey. 
And  boldly  mingle  in  the  deathful  fray. 

. Canto  su 

By  Edward's  youthful  graces  won, 
Whole  thousands  to  his  standard  run  ; 
Where'er  he  turns  his  radiant  eye. 
It  lights  the  flame  of  loyalty; 
The  monarch's  cr.ptivating  smile 
Could  thousands  from  his  foe  beguile. 
His  graceful  form  his  armour  cased, 
Around  him  was  the  corslet  laced; 
His  cuisses,  greaves,  and  shield  were  gold. 
While  pearls  emboss'd  the  baldric's  fold; 
His  helm  reflects  a  dazzling  ray. 
And  blazing  glories  round  him  play, 
"  And  let  the  Rose  of  York,"  he  cried, 
''  Now  lear'd  aloft  in  snowy  pride. 
With  crimson  blush,  ere  long,  be  dye 
The  blush  of  conquest  let  it  be — 
Now  fight  for  York  and  victory  !" 

Cunto  vi. 


"J" 
•led,  "^ 

ycd  ;0 


L.  Harrison,  Piiiitcr,  373,  Strand, 


:v 


2^ 


0 


TH/i 


B.epofiitorp 


or 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  <§-c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


Septembeu  1,  1816. 


N^  IX. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 


Gardkn-Seats  .  .  .  . 
Banqueting-House,  Whitehall 
Ladies'  Half  Buess    . 

Evening  Duess 

A  SMALL  Bed  .... 
Pattern  for  Needle-Work. 


PAGF. 
125 
165 
I7t> 
ib. 
182 


CONTENTS. 


FINE  ARTS. 

Arcliifectural  Hints. — Garden-Seats    .     .    12?; 

Architectural  Review. —  Retnarks  on  .St. 
Mary  le  Bone  New  Churcli — Eno;|isli 
Prejudices  against  Public  Buildings     .  loG 

Chronological  Survey  of  the  most  eminent 
Artists  to  the  Conmenccment  of  the 
Sixteenth  Century. —  Sculptors;  Pe- 
riod in  which  they  flourished -,  princi- 
pal Works  and  Merits    131 

THE  DOMESTIC    COMMON- 
PLACE-BOOK. 

On  the  Composition  of  Knamel ;  White, 
Purple,  Red,  Yellow,  Green,  Blue,  Vio- 
let, &.C. 135 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 
AND  ANECDOTES. 

Anecdotes  of  Marshal  dc  Biron       .     .     .   138 
Anecdote  of  the  Due  de  Guinea       .  .  139 

MISCELLANIES. 

The  Advantages  of  a  Trip  to  Paris  exrni- 

plitied 140 

Before  and  after  Marriage,  or  Matrimonial 

Uisappointnients  of  Solomon  Sapient  143 
The    Fashionable    Match  Maker    (conli- 

■nueilj 145 

The    Lauijer  of  the  smallest   Deviation 

from  Truth  illustrated.   By  Auglstls 

VON    KOTZKBUIC 148 

The  Female  Tattler. — No.  IX 154 

Description  of  the  Vjlley  ofChamouui        l6o 
Description  of  the  Island  ofSark     .     .     .   16^ 
Account  ofthe Banqueting- House,  White- 
hall      ' 165 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Klengicl's  Fantasia jtJG 

Bishop's  "  The  Chough  and  Crow  to  roost 

are  gone" jfiy 

"  The  Winds  whistle  cool"  ib. 


.Mozart's  Theme,  with  Mayer's  Va- 
riations        ii,. 

Grimani's  The  Brunswick  Waltzes        .    ibi 
Kerry's  Rondo  for  the  Piano-Forte       .     il», 

BURRoWES's  Third  Air i^. 

Drouet's  Third  Concerto  for  the  Flute     1G9 
Sanderson's  Study  of  the  Bow  and  Fin- 
ger-Board     ili. 

Sharp's  Military  Ditertimentu  for  the 
Piano-Foite 170 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Conflagration  of  Moscow,  from  Ja.MES's 
Travels jji 

FASHIONS. 

Ladies'  Half  Dress 176 

Evening  Dress 16. 

General    Observations   on     Fashion    and 

Dress       ib. 

French  Female  Fa<^hions 17s 

Fashionable  Furniture. — A  small  Bed      .  183 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC    ....     ih. 

POETRY. 

The  Stag  and  the  Biamblc,  a  fable     .     .   195 
Fairy  Scenes lag 


L  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


i-if*  3 


/I   .!!HUTA«aTU  .IISA 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

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We  shall  feel  great  pleasure  in  promoting  the  plan  of  Behevolus,  as  far  as  lies  in 
our  poiver. 

The  narrative  of  Observator's  intended  Tour  would  no  doubt  prove  highly  ac- 
ceptable. 

A.  M.'s  communication  is  more  suitable  for  a  Repository  of  Scandal  than  the  ,., 
Repository  of  Arts. 

We  are  not  a  little  proud  of  Gonstaatia's  good  opinion,  but  the  publication  of 
her  letter  would  be  no  evidence  of  our  modesty.  , 

'         ,. 

ERRATUM. 

'ir>':{.   «■>  ■:   '      j-^-    'ft  J/  -i-»v«W 
We  bave  to  apologize  for  an  error  which  escaped   us  in  the  Heceipt  for  Making  Gooseberry 
Wine  in  our  last  number.     Instead  of  adding'  "  two  or  three   boltleH  of  brandy  to  every  ga'Hoii  Oi 
of  the  wine"  (as  directed  p.  73.  col.  1.  lines  17,  18,  19),  (bat  quantity  of  spirit  should  be  addedr  4 
to  every  twenty  gallons  of  the  wine.  , 


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subscribing,  for  either  3,  6,  9,  or  ]  3  months. 

•ib«of|g97io>  9fo«i  ■■]  -9V9  »  Wt  hii'Miboimi  ilUaolaeo^o 

i^iy'sns  siom  bae     -uooaa  sdt  sJornotq  oj  baootJno:. 

'nvr  ni  ^ni  (i^g^  ;^  ,,;^,„  ^^j.^,  ^^^j  -^^ 


*'ir,nB  3ih 


26  ,8i3bB-^i  <  2JB9g    bt)ti  nrn^f bv,  fbd)  bt5nr«lda  siuO-m 


1  iBiot  u  i.>  ...  r>8laasaas^d  ihsiiGY 


'^  11  oVL  1\  \o^ 


^i-.  ?.^%»1 


€AMID>]EJt^    -SIEATS 


THE 


B^eposiitorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  ^c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II 


JSf.ptembeh  1,  1816. 


NO  IX. 


FINE  ARTS. 

ARCHITECTURAL    HINTS. 

PLATE  13.— GARDEN-SEATS. 


When  the  style  that  prevailed 
in  gardening  seemed  to  depend  on 
geometric  skill,  and  the  walks,  the 
shrubs,  and  the  parterres  were  dis- 
posed with  all  the  formal  accuracy 
of  the  line  and  compass,  it  w^as 
considered  that  stone  terraces,  bal- 
lustrades,  facades,  and  temples, 
were  very  suitable  embellishments 
to  such  scenery ;  tiiey  were  pro 


imitation.  The  business  of  the 
landscape-gardener  was  then  to 
disencumber  his  ground  of  such 
objects,  and  to  give  strong  effect 
to  particular  points  of  view  com- 
posed of  distant  scenery,  which 
led  to  the  present  greatly  improv- 
ed and  highly  esteemed  practice  of 
landscape-gardening  :  which,  how- 
ever beautiful,  is   yet   perhaps  a 


fusely  employed  to  decorate  every     little  "  unfurnished,"   if  the  term 
garden  that  professed  to  claim  the  i  may  so    be    used;    and    partakes. 


least  pretension  to  tasteful  cultiva- 
tion, and  they  certainly  formed  the 
chief  attraction  in  them.  Much  of 
this  fashion  being  abandoned  for 
one  in  which  the  mason  only  was 
less  employed,  and  where  the  gar- 
dener yet  pursued  his  linear  and 


therefore,  too  mucli  of  the  bare  and 
bald  effect  that  has  long  been  com- 
plained of  as  prevailing  in  all  the 
constituent  parts  of  our  residences. 
Rustic  seats,  bowers,  root-houses 
and  heath-houses,  and  such  small 
buildings,   now,   though  certainly 


symmetrical  notions  of  grace  and  i  very  sparingly,  decorate  our  gar- 
elegance,  vases  and  grou[)S  of  fi-  dens,  when  propriety  would  admit 
gures,  in  fantastical  shapes,  were  ||  something  in  substitution  for  them, 
occasionally  introduced  for"  eye-  jl  more  corresponding  with  the  cha- 


traps,"  as  they  were  called,  and 
continued  to  promote  the  encou- 
ragement of  our  lead-mines,  if  not 
of  true  taste,  until  the  simple,  yet 
varied,  beauties  of  scenic  and  rural 
nature  obtained  their  well-merited 
Vol.  JL  No.  IX. 


racter  of  the  place  and  of  the  scene, 
and  more  analogous  to  classic  art. 
Entertaining  this  opinion,  but  fall- 
ing in  with  the  general  practice, 
the  annexed  engraving  of  garden- 
seats  is  presented  to  our  readers,  as 
S 


126 


ST.   MARY    LE    BOKE    NEW   CHUIiCH. 


claiming  a  share  of  novelty,  tbjit 
perhaps  may  be  allowed  to  them, 
both  on  account  of  the  designs 
themselves,  and  the  peculiarity  of 
their  construction.  The  form  of 
the  upper  design  is  in  imitation  of 
those  buildings  in  India  that  were 
frequently  erected  for  monumental 
or  devotional  purposes,  and  very 
nearly  resemble  an  umbrella:  the 
stem  and  beams  of  it  are  intended 
to  be  made  of  light  work  in  iron, 
and  the  roof  filled  in  with  copper 
sheeting.  The  stem  being  fasten- 
ed firmly  into  the  ground,  the  wind 
would  have  very  little  effect  upon 
it,  particularly  as  it  would  possess 
a  certain  degree  of  flexibility ;  and 
with  very  little  trouble  the  whole 
might  be  removed  from  one  spot 
to  another,  and  there  fixed  as  in 
the  first  instance.  The  design  be- 
neath this  is  of  the  marquee. cha- 
racter, and  the  covering  is  sup- 
posed to  be  of  such  cloth  as  is  ge- 
nerally used  for  them,  the  devices 
being  either  woven  in  the  cloth 
itself,  or  painted  upon  it.  This  is 
supported  upon  an  iron  framing, 
and  from  which  it  is  farther  ex- 
tended by  cords.  By  preparing 
sockets   in    several    parts  of    the 


grounds,  so  fitted  to  the  stem  or 
the  upright  as  to  receive  it,  the 
whole  might  be  removed  and  fixed 
in  a  few  minutes;  and  in  winter  it 
could  be  put  away,  as  the  ribs  of 
the  top  might  be  prepared  to  fold 
into  a  small  compass,  and  the  co- 
vermg  packed  up  as  is  usual  with 
officers'  tents. 


I  THE    DRY    HOT    IN    TIMBER. 

I      An  opportunity  offers  for  pre- 
I  senting  our  readers  with  some  im- 
portant observations  on  the  disease 
in  buih'ings  termed  the  Dry  Rot, 
particularly  as  relates  to  its  causes, 
prevention,  and  cvre.     As  they  are 
'  the  result  of  long  study,  and  itap- 
!  pears  of  very  extensive  application 
I  in  the  business  of  exterminating 
j  this  great  evil,  it  is  presumed  they 
will  be  acceptable  as  '*  Hints  ;"  and 
I  although  not  strictly  correspond- 
ing with  the  original  intention  of 
!  this  paper,   yet,    as  they  will   not 
materially   interfere    with    it,   and 
promise  to  be  useful  towards  the 
well-being  of  much  that  may  be 
executed  from  its  suggestions,  it 
is  purposed   that  they  shall   form 
part  of  the  Architectural  Hints  in 
the  next  number  of  the  Repository. 


ARCHITECTURAL    REVIEW. 
No.  VIII. 

ST.   MARY   LE   BONE   NEW   CHURCH. 

It  happens,  fortunately  for  the  ii  of  the  devotion  of  their  inhabitants 

pious  reputation  of  the  west  end  j,  to  the  Christian  faith  on  the  east- 

of  London,  that  the  select  vestry  i  ern    side    of    the    Edgware-road. 

of  the  parish  of  St.  Mary  le  Bone  j;  Until  the  present  new  church  was 


have  at  length  ventured  to  erect  a 
steeple:  for  from  Islington,  through 
the  extensive  and  populous  parish 
of  St.  Pancras,  and  the  more  popu- 
lous and  wealthy  one  in  question, 
there  was  lately  no  such  evidence 


erected,  both  parishes  were  with- 
out this  index  of  theif  best  hope, 
which,  pointing  upwards,  seems  to 
offer  an  assurance  of  its  being  di- 
rected to  that  place  to  which  life  is 
but  a  transitory  journey.    A  spec- 


ST.    MARY    Li-:    liONE    NEW    CHURCH. 


U7 


tator,  used  to  contemplate  the  ca- 
pitals of  Christian  countries,  ob- 
serving the  total  absence  of  such 
manifestation  of  our  religion  in 
this  part  of  London,  might  well  be 
impressed  with  the  dread,  that  its 
inhabitants  were  abandoned  to  the 
state  of  conscious  unworthiness, 
that  abyss  of  despair  in  which  our 
immortal  l)ard  has  pictured  the  soul 
of  the  wretched  Beaufort,  who,  be- 
ing conjured  to  raise  his  hand  in 
testimony  of  his  expectation  of 
future  bliss,  is  said  to  have  died, 
and  made  no  sisrn. 

The  devotional  feelintis  of  the 
inhabitants  of  a  parisl)  are  symbol- 
ized by  its  church,  which,  on  eve- 
ry account,  should  correspond  with 
the  important  purpose  to  which  it 
is  dedicated:  it  is  a  building  as 
necessary  to  the  poor  as  to  the 
rich,  ;;nd  every  one  who  respects 
the  advantages  which  result  from 
piety  and  order,  and  wt-ighs  well 
the  influence  of  example  and  pub- 
lic t.^stimonies  of  respect  for  reli- 
gion upon  the  manners  of  society, 
will  ever  be  ready  to  afford  his 
proportional  contribution  to  erect 
a  parish  church  of  proper  magni- 
tude and  dignity  ;  for  the  contem- 
plation of  it  justly  reminds  us  of 
the  duties  we  owe  to  God,  to  our 
fellow-creatures,  and  to  ourselves. 
There  the  poor  and  the  afflicted 
find  a  refuge,  and  comfort  and  con- 
solation, which  give  them  strength 
to  bear,  or  vigotir  to  overcome, 
their  sutTerings  ;  it  is  there  that  t!ie 
vain,  the  proud,  and  ambitious  are 
awakened  from  their  feverish  delu- 
sions, and  become  assured,  that  in 
the  presence  of  him  before  whom 
they  stand,  the  distinctions  of  rank 
are  only  marked  by  the  increasing 
danger  that  waits  on  temporal  great- 


ness. In  the  service  of  the  church 
all  stations  are  equalized ;  the  same 
font  is  the  threshold  of  divine  fa- 
vour to  the  infant  of  the  meanest 
as  of  the  highest  birth;  at  the  same 
altar  the  pledges  of  mutual  affec- 
tion are  exchanged  by  the  poor  and 
by  the  rich;  and  here,  without  dis- 
tinction, they  kneel  and  offer  up  to 
Heaven,  in  equal  communion,  that 
purity  of  heart  which  is  its  only 
acceptable  tribute ;  and  when  the 
grave  is  prepared  to  receive  its 
alike  regarded  tenants,  the  same 
service  consigns  them  to  the  dust. 
Ai  no  time,  then,  should  a  parish 
be  without  a  church  of  proper  mag- 
nitude, and  least  of  all  in  times 
when  extraordinary  prosperity  has 
increased  it  from  a  village  to  the 
population  of  a  great  city.  On  this 
account  the  want  of  a  decent  parish 
church  was  long  the  cause  of  de- 
served censure  to  the  vestry  of  St. 
Mary  le  Bone  ;  and  a  long  struggle 
of  opposite  views  had  nearly  proved 
fatal  to  it  in  this  instance,  for  the 
present  building  was  originally  in- 
tended for  a  chapel,  and  so  pro- 
ceeded with  even  to  the  erection  of 
a  turret,  when  it  was  re-solved  to 
translate  it  to  a  dignity  of  higher 
rank:  the  turret  was  consequently 
taken  down,  and  the  steeple  erect- 
ed in  its  stead.  This  material  alter- 
ation of  t!ie  first  plan  of  necessity 
involved  the  architect  in  consider- 
able perplexity  and  great  diflicul- 
ties,  which  must  be  received  in  ex- 
tenuation of  several  deficiencies  of 
proportion  that  occur  in  some  parts 
of  the  building.  As  an  account  -of 
the  churches  of  this  parish  may  be 
desirable,  it  is  here  inserted. 

"  About  the  year  1400,  the  village 
of  Mary  Bone,  as  it  was  then  called, 
going  to  decay,  and  its  church  of 
S  2 


128 


ENGLISH  PREJUDICES  AGAINST   PUBUC    BUILDINGS. 


St.  John  the  Evangelist  beinlgalone 
by  the  side  of  the  highway,  it  was 
robbed   of   its    books,    vestments, 
bells,  images,  and  other  decora- 
tions ;   on   which  the  parishioners 
petitioned  the  Bishop  of  London 
for  leave  to  take  down  the  old  and 
erect  a  new  church,  where  they 
had  some  time  before  built  a  cha- 
pel ;  and  tiiat  structure  being  dedi-  j 
cated  to  tlie  Virgin  Mary,  received 
the   additional    epithet   of    Borne, 
from  its  vicinity  to  the  neighbour- 
ing brook  or  bourne."     A  writer  of 
1761  remarks  :    "  This  village,   if 
it  may  be  still  called  by  that  name, 
is  almost  joined  by  new  buildings 
to   the  metropolis;    and  the  new 
buildings  this  way  are  now  increas- 
ing so  very  fast,  that  it  will  un- 
doubtedly in  a  very  short  time  be 
quite  joined,  and  become  a  part  of 
it.     The  old  church,  which  was  a 
mean  edifice,   was   pulled    down, 
and  a  new  one  erected  in  1741." 
This  structure,  in  its  turn,  being 
found  to  be  too  small  and  mean,  also 
is   purposed   to   be    pulled   down 
when  the  new  church  is  completed, 
of  which  a  description  will   be  gi- 
ven, and  its  architecture  examined, 
in  the  succeeding  number  of  thi* 
Review.  — — ■ — 

TO    THE    EDITOR    OF   THE;  ^ItClti- 
^;.^,        TECTURAL    RIiV,IEWsJ=j~ol 

Sir, — Having  recently  read  j'pur 
strictures  upon  certain  public  build- 
ings now  erecting  in  this  metropo- 
lis, I  beg  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on 
your  plan,  which,  as  far  as  I  can 
discover,  will  be  useful  to  persons, 
like  myself,  who  wish  to  be  put  in 
a  way  to  appreciate  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  great  architectural 
works;  an  object  that  can  only  be 
accomplished  by  an  analysis  like 
this,  issuing  from  the  pen  of  an  in- 


telligent professor  of  architecture. 
The  liberality,  candour,  in\i.\  good 
sense  manifestedin  these  strictures, 
must  influence  the  public  mind, 
and  ultimately  assist  in  correcting 
the  national  ignorance,  and  nation- 
al failing,  of  which  1  am  about  to 
complain. 

The  delight  which  my  mind  de- 
rived from  the  contemplation  of  or- 
namentalbuildingwhen  I  wasaboy, 
without  any  one  to  teach  me  this 
feeling,  and  without  the  pleasure 
of  an  associate  to  participate  there- 
in, has  flattered  me  into  theopinion, 
that  I  am  naturally  a  lover  of  the 
beauties  of  architecture.  Doubt- 
less there  are  many  who,  unac- 
quainted with  the  principles  of  that 
art,  derive  great  pleasure  from  the 
same  source:  indeed  the  feeling 
mind  has  ever  been  impressed  with 
tlie  imposing  grandeur  and  subli- 
mity of  architecture.  -•' 
In  other  arts  a  man  may  be  al-' 
lowed  to  j^udge,  in  some  degree  at 
least,  of  their  merit  upon  certain 
principles;  for  they  are  either  great- 
ly governed  by  feeling,  as  in  music, 
or  have  their  prototypes  in  nature, 
as  in  poetry,  painting,  and  sculp- 
ture :  yet  amateurs  of  these  arts 
bow  to  the  opinion  of  the  profes- 
sors, and  usually  speak  of  their  re- 
spective performances  with  diffir 
dence,  ever  ready  to  acknowledge 
and  praise  the  merit  of  their  works. 
But  not  so  with  architecture,  which 
owns  no  prototype  in  nature,  being 
purely  an  affair  of  invention,  re- 
sulting from  the  study  of  abstract 
beauty,  a  due  consideration  of  fit- 
ness and  convenience,  and  ground- 
ed upon  a  profound  knowledge  of 
science.  Of  such  an  art,  it  oddly 
happens  (in  England  at  least),  that 
men,  without  the  least  considera- 


ENGLISH   PREJUDICES   AGAINST   PUBLIC    BUILDINGS, 


29 


tion  of  its  ahstruse  ground-work, 
tliiuk  themselves  coiupetenl  to  cri- 
ticise the  most  extensive  building, 
and  to  censure  all  its  j3arts,  witii  the 
authority  of  a  scientific  judge— 
with  a  prejudice  too  of  the  most 
unpatriotic  malice,  or  indiscrimi- 
nately condemning  every  public 
work.  «b  oiil 

On  all  other  occasions  an  Enof- 
lishman  evinces  a  national  pride, 
in  his  endeavour  to  enumerate  a 
greater  nnmher  of  illustrious  men 
of  intellect  in  all  professions,  than 
other  countries  can  boast:  but 
with  the  architects  all  is  wrong; 
every  work  they  accomplish,  eve- 
ry scheme  they  project,  is  the  sub- 
ject of  general  censure  and  abuse: 
no  sooner  is  the  ground  cleared 
for  a  building,  than  a  thousand 
voices  are  raised  against  the  site; 
and  scarcely  are  the  foundations 
laid,  wheti  a  crowd  may  be  dai- 
ly seen  appealing  to  each  other 
on  the  ignorance  of  the  design; 
as  the  superstructure  is  raised,  the 
clamour  increases — inch  by  inch, 
and  foot  by  foot — by  those  whose 
sagacity  in  building  holds  no  com- 
parison with  that  of  .the  beayer  or 
the  bee.  '>  ^iw^iums  :}sy     sif;! 

How  this  disposition  tocorvdemn 
the  projectors  and  designers  of 
public  buildings  has  arisen,  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  discover;  for  nothing 
is  more  common,  than  for  an  Eng- 
lishman to  quarrel  with  a  French- 
man upon  the  superiority  of  Lon- 
don to  Paris  in  architectural  points 
of  view  ;  nay,  this  national  feeling 
is  carried  so  far,  that  I  liave  heard 
those  contend  for  the  buildings  of 
London  who  have  never  been  at  Pa- 
ris :  yet,  among  each  other  we  are 
constantly  reprobating  what  has 
been  done,  what  is  doing,  and  even 
that  which  is  projecting. 


We  find  it  the  fashion  for  our 
contemporaries  to  praise  our  Gothic 
l)uildin<i$  even  with  enthusiasm: 
this,  however,  can  be  done  with- 
out compliment  to  the  living  ;  yet 
that  the  beauties  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture are  neither  felt,  nor  appre- 
ciated, may  be  inferred  from  the 
spirit  that  has  been  manifested  for 
ages,  and  still  exists,  for  the  de- 
struction of  its  venerable  remains, 
and  frequently  by  the  wretched  and 
tasteless  alterations  that  have  been 
made  in  our  cathedrals  and  at  our 
universities.  This  is  the  more  re- 
markable, as  the  superintendence 
of  these  matters  is  vested  in  the 
members  of  that  holy  fraternity, 
to  whose  predecessors  we  are  in- 
debted for  the  stupendous  edifices 
that  adorn  our  cities,  and  which 
reflect  such  credit  upon  the  genius 
o(  our  forefathers. 

But  with  regard  to  the  modern 
biiililings,  even  including  the  ca- 
thedral of  St.  Paul's,  our  self-taught 
critics  in  architecture  are  constant- 
ly pointing  to  faults  in  all  its  parts, 
which  prejudice  and  ighorartce 
alone  can  discover,  and  which  are 
believed  to  exist,  because  profes- 
sors of  the  art  have  hitherto  been 
too  indifferent  or  too  idle  to  con- 
fute them. 

Foreigners,  who  understand  these 
nhatters  better  than  ourselves,  think 
more  favourably  of  the  talent  of 
English  architects.  Ganova,  the 
celebrated  sculptor,  oti  his  recent 
visit  to  the  British  metropolis, 
among^ther  objects  of  his  research, 
wenttb  view  St.  PatiTs.  He  .vas  ac- 
companied by  a  certain  nobleman. 
Whetvhe  arrived  at  the  top  of  Lud- 
gftte  Hill,  and  the  grand  facade  of 
the  metropolitan  cathedral  met  his 
eye,  he  exclaimed,  "What  a  grand, 
what  a  beautiful  structure!*'      His 


150 


ENGLISH   PREJUDICES  AGAINST   PUBLIC    BUILDINGST/ 


lordship,  surprised  at  the  remark, 
and  bearing  in  mind  the  praises  he 
had  heard  of  St.  Peter's,  asked, 
*'What,can  you  admire  this  after  the 
great  church  at  Rome?" — "Yes," 
said  the  candid  Venetian;  *'it  is 
far  more  beautiful  than  that  church. 
It  is  ti»e  most  elegant  structure  in 
the  world  ;  although  I  do  not  like 
the  turrets."  Here  we  are  furnish- 
ed with  an  honest  opinion  of  St. 
Paul's  by  an  enlightened  foreigner, 
whose  j  udicious  eye  saw  its  defects, 
but  whose  profound  judgment  of 
the  sublime  and  beautiful  led  him 
to  pay  so  honourable  a  testimony 
to  British  talent. 

With  the  English  metropolitan, 
the  healthiness  of  London  and 
Westminster  is  the  common  theme 
of  exultation  ;  Parisand  Edinburgh 


grandeur  of  the  town.  The  Stratid 
or  Waterloo  Bridge,  which  will 
grant  facilities  to  commerce,  and 
augment  the  convenience  for  inter- 
course with  both  sides  of  the  water, 
as  well  as  do  away  in  no  small  degree 
the  danger  incident  to  the  crowded 
narrow  streets  of  the  city ;  this 
Strand  Bridge,  which  will  be  the 
wonder  of  the  world,  England  ex- 
cepted, which  sees  no  wonder  in 
that  native  talent  which  can  con- 
struct nine  arches  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  sj)an  each,  and 
which  embrace  by  continuity  one 
of  theiinest  rivers  in  Europe — this 
bridge  is  spoken  of  with  a  shrug, 
and  tlie  share-holders,  for  encou- 
raging it,  whose  public  spirit  me- 
rits every  honour,  are  lauglied  at 
as  half-witted  speculators,  tricked 


as  commonly  the  subjects  of  his  jj  out  of  their  money  by  useless 
abuse.  The  stenches  and  filth  of  j|  scliemes.  With  too  many,  alas  I 
both  these  cities  excite  his  animad-  j  a  spirited  projector  is  stigmatized 
version  and  contempt;  whilst  the     as  an  impostor  and  a  cheat,  and  a 

civil  engineer  as  a  fool  1 


sweetness  and  salubrity  of  his  own 
crowded  city  he  ascribes  to  the  con- 
venience of  its  common  sewers. 
Yet  in  this  genuine  but  unaccount- 
able  spirit  of  inconsistency,  now  ; 
that  a  sewer,  more  stupendous  than 
the  cloaca  of  Rome,  has  lately  been  i 
sunk,  to  relieve  the  town,  increased 
to  double  its  size,  of  its  filth,  the 
projector  and  builder  of  this  migh- 
ty subterraneous  channel  is  abused 
as  one  who  has  rendered  an  injury 
to  the  public,  who,  instead  of  be- 
ing rewarded  with  a  civic  crown, 
as  he  deserves,  would  be  devoted  by 
his  infatuated  neighbours  to  ruin 
and  disgrace! 

,^  Another  subject  of  gratulation 
appears  among  this  prejudiced  class 
of  science-haters,  upon  the  failure 
of  the  grand  schemes  for  the  im- 
provement both  of  the  utility  and 


From  the  south-west  of  this  mighty 
metropolis,  proceeding  from  Pall- 
Mall  to  the  north,  nothing  can  be 
more  in  convenient  or  worse  planned 
than  the  intervening  streets.  The 
greatest  thoroughfares  for  carriages 
are  the  narrowest,  dirtiest,  and 
sharpest-angled  streets.  To  remedy 
such  inconvenience,  to  adorn  the 
town,  and  to  render  it  more  healthy, 
a  most  judicious  plan  has  been  pro- 
posed, to  open  an  avenue  from  Carl- 
ton-House,  to  cross  Piccadilly  and 
Oxford-street ;  a  work  that,  should 
it  be  finished,  will  form  the  finest 
street  in  the  world.  This  is  pro- 
posed to  be  done  without  calling 
upon  the  public  to  defray  any  part 
of  the  expense.  Would  foreigners 
believe,  were  they  to  be  told,  that 
the   thinking  people  of  England, 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  SCULPTORS.    131 


the  people  of  the  very  town  ac- 
knowledging and  even  murmuring 
at  the  inconvenience  of  the  nar- 
row streets,  and  complaining  of  the 
danger  of  carriages  driving  ra- 
pidly through  them,  set  to  work 
might  and  main  to  prevent  this 
improvement?  Yet  it  is  true.    The 


Prince  Regent,  the  government, 
the  projector,  and  all  concerned, 
are  abused,  vilified,  and  even  exe- 
crated for  their  wickedness  and  folly 
in  times  like  these,  or  in  any  times, 
for  even  thinking  of  the  accom- 
plishment of  such  a  thing! 

Per^^muulator. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE   MOST   EMINENT  ARTISTS  TO 
THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 


C Continued  from  p.  11. J 
SCULPTORS  ;     PERIOD     IN     M  HIGH  ;[      copal  church  of  Arezzo 
THEY     FLOURISHED;    PRINCIPAL 
WORKS   AND    MERITS, 

Works 


Renghieri,  of  Bologna,  1120. 
at  Bologna  and  Aniiochia. 

BoNNA.NO,  of  Pisa,  1 1  70,  Works  in  the 
cathedral,  and  columns  of  the  hanging 
tov\er,  at  Pisa. 

TommaJ^o,  of  Pisa,  1 170.     Works  in  the  I 
caihedral,  and  columns  of  the  hanging 
tower,  of  Pi»a. 

NiccoLA  DA  Pisa,  of  Pisa,  1250.  Works 
in  the  cathedral,  the  Battisterio,  and 
Campo  Santo,  at  Pisa.  Works  in  the 
caihedral  of  Oryieto.  He  began  the 
shrine  of  St.  Dominic  at  Bologna.  Se- 
veral German  sculptors  were  engaged 
at  the  same  time  with  him  upon  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto,  but  he  far  ex- 
celled them,  as  well  as  all  those  of  his 
own  country.  His  works  there  repre- 
sent paradise  and  hell  in  alto  relievo. 
He  purified  Christian  sculpture  of  Go- 
thic coarseness,  and  gave  greater  free- 
dom of  movement  to  the  statues.  He 
chiefly  studied  the  ancient  Greek 
basso  relievos  upon  the  sarcophagi  in 
the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa. 

Giovanni  da  Pisa,  of  Pisa,  1280.  The 
tombs  of  the  Popes  Urban  IV.  Martin 
IV.  and  Benedict  XI.  at  Pevugia.  The 
high  altar  in  the  church  of  St,  Domi- 
pic  at  Bologna.  Tiie  pulpit  in  the 
cathedral  of  Pisa.  A  marble  table, 
valued  at  30,000  guilders,  in  the  epis- 


He  conti- 
nued to  cultivate  the  improved  style 
begun  by  his  father  Niccola  da 
Pisa, 

Giotto,  of  Vespigniano,  in  Tuscanv, 
1280,  Various  crucifixes.  Works  at 
Florence  and  Avignon. 

Fiiccio,  of  Florence,  1280,  Tomb  of 
the  Queen  of  Cyprus,  in  marble,  and 
adorned  wiili  many  figures,  in  the 
church  of  St.  Francis,  at  Assisi. 

Marchione,  of  Florence,  1280,  Varir 
ons  works  in  the  churches  and  con- 
vents in  and  near  Arezzo  ami  Bologna, 

PiETRO  Di  Stefani,  of  Naplcs,  1280. 
Tomb  of  Pope  Innocent  IV.  in  the 
episcopal  church,  and  many  crucifixes 
and  saints  in  other  churches  and  con- 
vents at  Naples.  Many  tombs  in  the 
same  city,  and  particularly  in  some  of 
the  conventual  churches. 

Maugheriione,  of  Arezzo,  1280,  Tomb 
of  Pope  Gregory  X.  in  the  caihedial 
of  Arezzo.  Several  saints  and  cruci- 
fixes in  the  same  town.  He  was  dis- 
tinguished for  his  improvement  in  the 
style  «if  his  predecessors,  and  the  in- 
vention of  gilding. 

Ramo  di  Pacanello,  of  Italy,  1290. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 

Gualterio,  of  Italy,  1290.  Many- 
works  in  the  caihedral  of  Orvieto. 
Crucifixes  in  wood  and  marble. 

GiAcoMO,  of  the  abbey  of  S.  Salvatore, 
1290.    Crucifixes  and  basso  relievos 


132    CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  SCULPTORS. 


in  wood.  Many  works  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

Roland,  of  Bruges,  1290.  Crucifixes, 
saints,  ornaments,  especially  foliage, 
in  wood.  Many  works  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

Don  Pietko,  of  Spain,  1290.  Many 
works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Ugolino,  of  Casiello,  in  Tuscany,  1290. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Andrea  Ugolino,  called  Pisano,  of 
Pisa,  1300.  Many  statues  for  the  ca- 
thedral of  Florence,  and  for  the  fa9;ide 
of  the  church  of  St.  Mark  at  Venice. 
The  old  metal  gates  to  the  church  of 
S.Giovanni  at  Florence.  He  was  par- 
ticularly distinguished  for  his  per- 
formances in  bronze,  which  surpassed 
all  those  of  his  predecessors. 

Alemanno,  of  S.  Salvatore,  1300.  Many 
crucifixes  in  marble  and  bronze  in 
Tuscany.  Various  works  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Orvieto. 

Paolo,  of  S.  Salvatore,  1300.  Various 
woiks  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto 

Mars L PINO,  of  Arezzo,  1300.  Many 
works  in  churches  and  convents  at 
Arezzo,  but  especially  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

Giovanni,  of  Arezzo,  1300.  Works  in 
the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

CiONE,  of  Florence,  1300.  A  silver  al- 
tar, with  figures  in  alt<j  relievo,  in  the 
church  of  S.  Giovanni  Baltista  at  Flo- 
rence. He  particularly  excelled  in 
works  in  gold  and  silver. 

Vanne,  of  Terracina,  1300.  Many 
works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

GiAcoMiNO,ofComo,  1 300.  Many  works 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Benedetto,  of  Como,  1300.  Many  works 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Arnolfo  Lapo,  of  Florence,  1300, 
Saints,  crucifixes,  and  basso  relievos, 
in  common  stone,  on  the  facades  and 
gates  of  various  churches  and  convents 
in  Tuscany. 

Agostino,  brother  of  Paolo,  of  Siena, 
1300.  Many  works  in  the  cathedral 
of  Siena.     Tomb  of  the  Bishop   of 


Arezzo,  with  several  historical  basso 
relievos  in  the  episcopal  church  of 
Arezzo,  A  marble  table  of  excellent 
workmanship,  and  adorned  wiih  many 
figures,  for  the  church  of  St.  Francis  at 
Bologna.  Many  works  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

Paolo,  brother  of  Agostino,  of  Siena, 
1300.     By    the   increased    animation 
which  these  two  brothers  imparled  to     ' 
their  figures,    sculpture  was  farther 
improved. 

FoRzoRE  Di  Spinello,  ofArezzo,  1300. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. He  excelled  in  the  execution 
of  small  works  in  gold  and  silver,  as 
mitres  and  crowns,  which  he  embel- 
lished uiih  figures. 

Moccio,  of  Siena,  1320.  Tomb  of  Cer- 
chi,  in  the  church  of  S.  Dominic  at 
Arezzo.  Many  other  works  there  and 
at  Florence.  He  was  the  be^t  sculp- 
tor in  regard  to  style  and  execution 
since  the  time  of  Andrea  Pii^ano. 

NiccoLo,  of  Florence,  1320.  Woiks  in 
the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Giacomo,  of  Floreiicf ,  1 320.  Works  in 
the  cathedral  <if  Orvieto.  Several  cru- 
cifixes at  Florence 

GiAN  Angelo,  ol'Gubbio,  1320.  Many 
saints  and  crucifixes  at  Rome,  in  the 
Ecclesiastical  Slate,  and  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

Selmino  Ceccarelli,  of  Assisi,  1S20. 
Works  at  Assisi,  Arezzo,  Siena,  and 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Petrcccio  di  Ciola,  of  Amelia,  1320. 
Works  in  the  cathedrals  of  Orvieto 
and  Siena. 

Ciccio,  of  Assisi,  1330.  Several  tombs 
at  Assisi.  Works  in  ,the  cathedral  of 
Orvieto. 

Angelo  di  Pietro,  of  Gubbio,  1330. 
Works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Jacomo  Lanfrani,  of  Venice,  1330. 
Works  in  relievo  on  the  tomb  of  An- 
drea Carduino,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Dominic  at  Bologna.  Portal  and  gate, 
with  woik  in  relievo,  to  the  church  of 
St.  FVancis  at  Iraqla. 


cii5pj^oLopipA|..5o;vvf >^,9^,T^^Q?^;;i^^l^i:^'T  scyivjous.  1 33 


JAfopmLO,  of  Venice,    13,'iO.     Torab, 

,.w0.  figures,   compljJile,  ji,nj^,  jn^^^ilto 

J  relievo,   iti  marble,   for  Giovanni  da 

Lugano,  in  tbe  church  of  Sr,  jDominic 

at  IjDloyria,  execuletl  l)y  him  anil  Pie- 

tro    Paolo.      Ho   was  a  distm^uisheil 

artist  of  his  acre.  y    ,''' 

PiETRO  Paolo,  of  Venice^:  1330. — See 

the  preceding.  q      _  /, 

Pes.\rkse.  <tf  Pesaro,  1330.     Works  in 
relievo,  in  maible,  at  the  gale  of  the 
r''urt:h  if  Si.  Dominic  at  Pesaro. 
UcoLiNo  V'liiRi,  (if  Siena,  134-0.    Worlis^ 

in  the  cathedral  ot  Orvie'o.  ^^  ,, 
PiETRO  Cavallini,  of  Rome,  134-0. 
Tlie  WiiUiler-rtorking  crucifix,  in  ^the 
ch  rch  of  S.  Paolo,  without  the  city  of 
Ronii',  which  is  said  lo  have  spoken  lo 
.     St.  liriJ;iet. 

ToMMAso  CiOTTiNO,  of  Florence,  1340. 
Ma;iy  crucifixes  and   basso   reliey.o.s 
niih  figures  of  saints,  in  various  con- 
vents in  Florence. 
Andrea  Oroauna,  of  Florence,  1.330 
Severa,!  crucifixes  at  Florruce,  in  il-e 
Campo  Santo,  and  in  the  cathedral,  oi" 
Pisa. 
Jacobo   Orgagna,   of  Florence,   1350. 
The  mule  in  the  relievo  over  the  porch 
of  ^he  cathedral  of  Florence. 
NiNus  Ugoi-i.no,  of  Pi^a,  1.350.'  Many 
statues  of  saints  and  crucifixes  in  fht' 
churches  and  convenisof  Naples/Pisa, 
Arezzo,  Orvieto,  and  Florence.     He 
assisted  in  the  exeiiulionof  ijbe^til 
bronze  gales  of  S.  Giovanni  at  Flo- 
.    rence.     He  was  remarkable  for  deli-; 
cacv  of  treatment  and  softiiess  of.ex- 
pression. 
ToMMASo  Ugolino,  ofPisa,  f356.  Basso^ 
relievo  in  tlie  convent  of  Si,  Francis  af^ 
Pisa.     Many  crucifixes. 
Giovanni  CiAccARi,  of  Italy,  l!]ljO,\  i 
PiETRO  CiACCARi,  of  Italy,  1350,       s 
Ambrosino  hi  Meg,  oflialy,  I350,j  J  % 
Crisiiano  diLando,  of  Italy,  1350,(  =  p 
Angeluccio  Di  Lando,  1350, 
Cecco  MaiTani,  of  Orvieto,  135(T, 
NuTi  Maitani,  of  Orvieto,  1350,  [^'^ 
ANOREAlVlArTASi,  of  Orvieto,  1350 
FoL  J  I.    No.  IX.     '"      •"  - 


Gjij^v.AN^o.A^iHRjOGio,  of  Florence^  1  3.50. 
The  siatiies  vi  Justice  and  St,  Barbara, 
ini^iarble,  iiiUM'<  aljiedral  of  Florence. 
He  was  ren»iirkal)le  for  fiiihl'ul,  but 
inelegant,  imitaiinri  (ilui'.Uire. 

I'lLiPi'O  Calendario,  of  Venice,  1350. 
Many  works  for  churches  and  con- 
vents, and  also  for  some  public  edi- 
fices at  Venice. 

Lohenzo  A.mbrocio,  of  Florence.  1350. 
The  staifte  ofthe  Virgin  Mary,  witb 
many  other  statues  in  marble,  in  the 
cathedral  of  Florence. 

Nic^ola  da  Siena,  of  Siena,  130O. 
Many  works  in  the  churches  and  con- 
vents in  and  near  Siena,  but  particu- 
I'arly  ip  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Lli:a    di    Giovanni,    of    Italy,     13G0. 

Mauv  works  in  the  cathedial  of  Or- 

viettj.  ^^. 
.,   ■:.       OOf-  '    ■i-f.'i-thv    _   ^     . 
Meo    ni   Andrea^    of  Orvieto,     1360. 

Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 

Giacomo,  of  Ravenna,  1370.  Cruci- 
fixes,  saiptiy  Madonnas,  at  and  near 

.  Ravenna.  Many  works  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

FuANCEsco  Seli.ari,  of  Florence,  1570. 
Several  statues,  in  marhle,  in  the 
church  of  S^.  Reparata  of  Floreix  e. 

FiLiPPO  Buunelleschi,  of  Florence, 
1390.  St.  IMary  INIagdalen,  in  wood, 
ill  the  church  of  St.  in  irito.  An  ad- 
mirable crucifix,  in  wood,  in  the  Ct- 
p^le  di  Goitdi',  in  the  church  <>f  S. 
i\rari'a  Novella  at  Florence.  Small 
works    in   liold,    silver,    and    bronze. 

'     Model   for  tlie, 'porches  of  S'.  (Jiovanni 

'     at  Florence,  in  compeliUon  with  Ghi- 

I    *bef(i.'^    His  si  vie   is'  remarkable   for 

.  ,   -^j;  -'■"A'-  >   '     ■:■■■■. 

truth  and  .di»iiit\'. 

........         o  .  ,•  J,  ^  j^, 

Cristofano  SoCakio',  of  Milan,   1  1-00. 
''...'"■' 
Many  statues,  and  oilier  works,  in  ihe 

'\ ' '■' '  ■    ■.  '    1    r 

Carthusian  coiivent  at  P.ivia,  The 
statues  t>f  St.  Roche,  St,  Lazaru-^,  St. 
Peter,  St.  Helena,  St,  Lucia,  St.  Aga- 
tha, and  many  other  saints  in  and 
about  the  cathetlral  of  Milan.  His 
stvle  was  true  lo  nature,  but  jattief 
mean,    , 


134   CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  SCULPTORS. 


Dello,  of  Florence,  14-00.     Many  sta- 
tues ill  Spain,  but  chiefly  small  works 
in  gold,  silver,  marble,  and  bronze. 
BuGGiANO,  of  Buggiano,  1400.     Infants 
in  the  sacrisiy  of  St.  Repaiata.     Por- 
trait of  Filippo  Brunelleschi  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Florence. 
PiETRO,  of  Freiburg,    1400.     Works  at 
Freiburg,  and  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 
Bamboccio,  of  Piperno,  1400.    Tomb  of 
Cardinttl  Carbone.     Slalues  of  Joshua 
and  Michael. 
AiGUANi.of  B  dogna,  1400.    Tombs  and 
small  statues  in  the  Carmeliie  church 
of  St.  Martino  Maggiore  at  Florence. 
His  stvle  was  dignified    but  sim[)le, 
and  his  execution  natural.     He  was  a 
friar,  and  attained  the  rank  of  cardinal. 
LucA  DELLA  RoBBi  A,  of  Florence,  1400. 
Tomb  of  Malatesta,  at  Rimini.    Many 
works  in  churches  and  convents  at  Flo- 
rence. 
NiccoLo  Lamberti,  of  Arezzo,  1400. 
Tomb  of  Pope  Alexander  V.  in  the 
church   of   St.   Francis    at   Bologna. 
Many  works  at  Arezzo  and  Florence. 
Francesco  Lombardo,  of  Italy,  I^IO. 
Works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto,  at 
Pavia,  Mantua,  and  Verona. 
Donatello,  of  Florence,  1420.  A  basso 
relievo,  representing  theAnnunciation, 
in  stone,  in  the  church  of  S.  Croce  at 
Florence.     A  crucifix,  in  wood,  in  the 
same  church.     Tomb  of  the  deposed 
Pope  Coscia,  in  S.  Giovanni  at  Flo- 
rence.    A   Mary  Magdalen    in   the 
same   place.     Daniel,   St.   John  the 
Evangelist,  St.  Peter  and  St.  Mark, 
St.  George,  St.  Judith,  St.  David  and 
St.  Sebastian.     A  beautiful  Mercury 
in  bronze.     Several  tombs  and  basso 
relievos.     Under  the  hands  of   this 
artist  modern  sculpture  made  consi- 


derable progress  in  every  respect,  but 
especially  in  regard  to  basso  relievos. 
Tradate,  of  Milan,    1420.     Statue  of 
Pope  Martin  V.  in  marble,  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Milan,    and  many   other 
works  there. 
Lorenzo  di  Bartoluccio,  of  Florence, 
1420.     Many  works  in  the  cathedral 
of  Orvieto.     Model    for  the  bronze 
gates  of  S.  Giovanni  Battista  at  Flo- 
rence, in  competition  with  Ghiberti. 
Fuancf.sco,  ofVandabrina,  1420.  Many 
works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto,  at 
Arezzo   and  Siena.      Model   for  the 
bronze  gates  of  S.  Giovanni  at  Flo- 
rence, in  competition  with  Ghiberttv 
SiMONE    DA   CoLLE,    of    Italy,    1420. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto.    Model  for  the  bronze  gates  of 
S.  Giovanni,  in  competition  with  Ghi- 
berti. 
Lorenzo  Ghiberti,  of  Florence,  1420. 
The  beautiful  and  celebrated  gates  of 
bronze  for  the  church  of  S.  Giovanni 
I      Battista  at  Florence.     Two  basso  re- 
I      lievos  at  Siena.  Statue  of  St.  Matthew, 
in  bronze,  atplorence.     Shrine  for  re- 
lics in  the  church  Degli  Angeli  at  Flo- 
rence.    Sarcophagus  of  St.  Zenobius 
in  the  cathedral  of  Florence.     Admi- 
rable works  in  gold  and  silver.     He 
displayed  an  excellence  that  has  ne- 
ver yet  been  surpassed  in  the,  treatr 
ment  of  basso  relievos. 
Francesco     Buglione,     of    Florence, 

14-20.  Various  works  in  Florence. 
Simon  Donatei.lo,  of  Florence,  1430. 
Tomb  of  Pope  Martin  V.  in  S.  Gio- 
vanni di  Laterano,  and  one  of  the 
bronze  gates  of  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome. 
Many  monuments  at  Rimini,  Florence, 
Arezzo,  Prato,  and  Siena. 
(To  he  continued.) 


135 


VTit    ' 


THE  DOMESTIC  COiVLMON PLACE-BOOK  ; 

Containing  authentic  Receipts  and  misccUuntous  Infonnatinn  in  every  Branch  of 
Domestic  Economj/,  and  uf  general  Ltility. 

also  altered  by  coloured  enamels  : 


ON  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  ENAMEL; 
WHITE,  PURPLE,  RED,  YELLOW, 
GREEN,    BLUE,    VIOLET,    &C. 

The  beautiful  art  of  enameling 
consists  in  the  application  of  a 
smooth  coating,  or  vitrified  var- 
nish, melted  upon  the  substance  to 
which  it  is  applied,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce a  glossy  varnish,  either  trans- 
parent or  opaque,  and  with  or  with- 
out colour,  fi;4ures,  or  other  de- 
signs, which  are  likewise  melted 
on  the  surface  by  the  action  of 
heat. 

The  general  principles  on  which 
the  art  of  tbe  enanieler  is  found- 
ed, are,  on  the  wliole,  very  simple; 
but  there  is  perhaps  none,  of  all 
the  chemical  processes  of  the  arts, 
which  requires  a  greater  practical 
skill  than  the  art  of  enameling. 
The  only  metals  that  are  enameled 
upon,  are  gold,  platina,  and  cop- 
per, and  with  the  latter  the  opaque 
enamels  are  only  used.  Transpa- 
rent enamels  can  only  be  applied 
to  the  surface  of  such  metals  as  do 
not  become  oxidated  by  open  ex- 
posure to  a  red  heat,  nor  whicl' 
suffer  a  chemical  cljange  by  the 
contact  of  a  vitreous  fluid  abound- 
ing with  a  metallic  oxide.  Hence 
coloured  enamels,  upon  metals, 
cannot  be  applied  to  silver':  though 
this  metal  suffer  no  oxidation  by 


so  that  gold  and  platina  are  the 
only  metals  upon  which  colour- 
ed enamels  can  be  laid  without  be- 
ing altered  by  them.  The  ena- 
meling on  earthen  ware  or  porcelain 
forms  a  different  branch  of  the  art. 
White  Enamel. 

The  simplest  kind  of  enamel  on 
metals  is  tliat  fine  opaque  giass 
which  is  applied  to  the  dials  of 
watches :  a  good  enamel  of  this 
kind,  fit  to  be  applied  both  to  por- 
celain and  metals,  should  be  of  a 
very  clear,  fine,  white  colour,  so 
nearly  opaque  as  only  to  be  trans- 
parent at  the  edges;  and  at  a  mo- 
derate red  heat  it  should  run  into 
that  kind  of  paste,  or  imperfect 
fusion,  which  allows  it  to  extend 
itself  freely  and  uniformly,  and  to 
assume  a  vitreous  glossy  even  sur- 
face, without,  however,  fully  melt- 
ing into  a  thill  liquid.  The  opaque 
white  colour  of  this  enamel  is  given 
by  oxide  of  tin,  which  j)06sesses, 
even  in  a  small  portion,  the  capa- 
bility of  rendering  vitreous  mix- 
lures  opaque  white.  This  enamel, 
either  for  earthen  ware,  or  the  pur- 
poses of  being  applied  on  metals, 
is  best  prepared  in  the  following 
manner : — 

Calcine  100  parts  of  lead  witli 
from  15  to  20,  30,  or  even  40,  of 


mereheat,yetif,for example, ayel- li  tin.  A  mixture  of  these  me'aU 
low  enamel,  made  of  6xide  of  lead  ,!  calcines  very  easilj'  when  in  Con- 
or antimony,  is  laid  on  a  surface  of  {  tact  with  air.  As  soon  as  it  is 
polished  silver,  and  kept  melted  on  brought  to  a  red  heat,  it  burns  like 
it  for  a  certain  time,  the  silver  and  I  charcoal,  and  is  oxidated  very 
enamel  act  on  each  otiier,  and  the  i  speedily.  The  composition  which 
colour,  insteadof  being  a  clear  yel-  i  calcines  best,  is  that  in  which  the 
low,  becomei   brown.     Copper  is  |  lead  is  to  the  tin  as  100  to  20 or  25. 

T  2 


1«3G  COMPOSITION    OF    tiNAMELS,    WHITE,   PURPLE,   KED. 


In  |)roportion  as  the  calciiialion  is 
effected,  the  oxidated  or  calcined 
part  must  be  taken  away,  and  the 
operation  continued  till  the  whole 
becomes  pulverulent.  As  some 
small  particles  always  escape  oxi- 
dation, you  must  expose  to  the  fire 
a  second  time  the  oxide  obtained, 
in  order  to  oxidate  it  completely, 
which  may  be  easily  known  by  its 
ceasing  to  sparkle.  When  the  pro- 
portion of  tin  exceeds  25  or  30  parts, 
a  stronger  fire  is  necessary  to  pro- 
duce oxidation.      In   a   word,    by  |  state  of  a  purple  oxide,  always  give 


tin  is  sulficient  to  form  this  preci- 
pitate. The  solution  of  tin  must 
be  added  gradually,  until  the  pur- 
ple colour  begin  to  appear;  you 
then  stop;  and  having  suffered  the 
coloured  precipitate  to  be  deposit- 
ed, it  must  be  washed  by  the  re- 
peated affusions  of  soft  water,  and 
suffered  to  dry  slowly  in  a  dark 
place,  or  defended  from  light.  The 
different  solutions  of  gold,  in  what- 
ever manner  precipitated,  provid- 
ed the   gold   be   obtained    in   the 


varying  the  degrees  of  heat,  the 
operator  will  easily  be  able  to  dis- 
cover the  temperature  best  suited 
to  the  mixture  on  which  he  ope- 
rates. 

One  hundred  parts  of  this  oxide 
are  to  be  mixed  with  an  equal 
quantity  of  ground  fiint;  from  25 
to  30  parts  of  conunon  salt  are  add- 
ed ;  the  whole  is  well  mixed  toge- 
ther, and  fused  at  tlie  bottom  of  a 
potter's  kiln.  When  taken  from 
the  kiln  it  will  not  be  white,  but 
sometimes  even  very  black;  in  ge- 
neral it  is  marbled  with  black, 
grey,  and  white. 

Purple  Enamel. 

This  colour  is  given  by  the  pur- 
ple oxide  of  gold,  which  may  be 


a  purple  colour,  which  will  be  more 

beautiful  in  proportion  to  the  pu- 
;  rity  of  the  oxide:   the  presence  of 

the  minutest  portion  of  iron  mate- 
1  rially  injures  the  colour.  The  gold 
I  precipitated  in  the  form  of  fulmi- 
j  naiing  gold,  which  loses  the  pro- 
i  perty  of  fulminating  when  mixed 

with  fluxes,  gives  a  tolerably  good 

purple.  Saline  fluxes  are  better 
I  suited  for  this  colour  than  those  in 
I  which  there  are  metallic  oxides. 
I  Those,  therefore,  which  have  been 

made  of  silex  or  poudered  flint, 
;  borax  and  chalk,  or  white  glass, 
I  borax  and  u  little  white  oxide  of 
I  antimony,  with  a  minute  portion  of 

nitre,   may   be  employed   with  it. 

Purple  enamel  will  bear  from  4  to 


pre|)ared  in  diiierent  ways,  such  as  j  24  parts  of  flux,   and  even  more, 
b}-   precipitating,   by    means  of  a  ij  according  to  the  shade  required. 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  that  this  co- 


solution  of  tin  in  muriatic  acid,  at 
a  nuniinuni  of  oxidation,  a  solution 
of  gold  in  nitro-murJatic  acid*  di- 
luted with  water.  The  smallest 
quantity  possible  of  the  solution  of 

*  Some  valuable  inforaiation  concern- 
ing llie  general  nature  and  piepara;i<<n 
of  this  precipiiate,  is  to  be  found  ia  A 
practical  Essaj/  on  Clicmicul  Re-agents, 
or  Tests,  p.  15(3,  pul)li-.hed  by  J.  Cal- 
low, Crown-court,  Priiiceoh-^jueel,  Soho, 


lour  will  not  bear  a  strong  heat. 
lied  Enamel. 
We  have  no  substance  capable 
of  giving  directly  a  fine  red  colour. 
To  obtain  this  colour,  it  must  he 
compounded  different  ways.  Take 
1,  2,  or  2|  parts  of  green  sulphate 
of  iron,  and  sulphate  of  alumine, 
or  alum  ;  fuse  them  together  in  their 
water  of  crystallization,  taking 
care   that   they    are    well    mixed. 


COMPOSITION    OF    KNAMELS,    YELLOW,    GREF.N,    BLUE. 


137 


Continue  to  lieat  tlieui  to  complete 
dryness,  tlien  increase  the  lire  so  us 
to  bring  tlie  mixture  to  a  red  heat, 
and  keep  the  mixture  heated  until 
it  has  every  where  assumed  a  l)eau- 
tiful  red  cohnir,  which  may  be  as- 
certained by  taking  out  a  little  of 
it,  from  time  to  time,  and  sull'ering 
it  to  cool  in  the  o|ien  air.  The 
proportions  of  sulphate  of  alumine, 
or  alum,  and  sulphate  of  iron,  may 
be  varied.  The  more  alum  be  add- 
ed, the  paler  will  be  the  colour. 
Three  parts  of  ahun  to  1  of  sul- 
])hate  of  iron,  gives  u  Hesh  colour. 
It  is  alum  also  vvliich  gives  this  co- 
lour the  property  of  being  perma- 
nent iu  the  fire.  Tliis  enamel  does 
not  require  much  tlux  ;  that  which 
is  best  auited  tor  it,  is  comjjosed  of 
alum,  red  lead  or  minium,  common 
salt,  and  ground  flint:  iu  general, 
3  parts  of  flux,  with  1  of  the  colour  ; 
but  this  ou^^ht  to  be  varied  accord- 
ing to  the  shade  required. 
Yellow  Enamel. 

Though  this  colour  may  be  ob- 
tained in  a  direct  manner,  com- 
pound yellows  are  preferred,  be- 
cause the}'  are  more  certain  in  their 
effect, and  more  easily  applied,  than 
yellow  obtained  in  a  direct  man- 
ner from  the  substance  which  pro- 
duces it ;  namely,  silver. 

The  metallic  oxides  which  fornt 
the  basis  of  the  yellow  colour,  be- 
sides silver,  are  generally  those  of 
lead,  such  as  red  lead  or  minium, 
white  lead,  and  white  oxide  of  an- 
timony. The  following  are  the 
different  compositions  that  may  be 
used  : — One  part  of  white  oxide  of 
antimony,  1,  2,  or  3  of  white  oxide 
of  lead,  1  of  alum,  and  1  of  muri- 
ate of  ammonia.  When  these  mat- 
ters have  been  pulverized  and 
mixed  together,  they  may  be  put 


into  a  vessel  over  a  fire,  sufficient 
to  sublime  the  nmriate  of  amujo- 
nia;  and  when  the  mass  lias  as- 
sumed a  yellow  colour,  the  opera- 
tion is  tinished.  Yellow  enamels 
recjuire  so  little  flux,  that  1  or  2 
parts,  to  1  of  the  colour,  is  in  ge- 
neral sufficient:  saline  fluxes  are 
inqiroper  for  them,  especially  those 
whicli  contain  nitre.  They  must 
be  used  with  fluxes  composed  of 
flint,  oxide  of  lead,  and  borax, 
without  any  salt.  The  best  method 
of  employing  the  oxide  of  silver 
to  produce  a  yellow,  is  to  use  ii 
pure  :  lay  a  light  coating  on  the 
place  which  you  wish  to  stain  yel- 
low, and  heat  the  vessel  gently,  to 
give  it  the  colour;  when  it  has 
been  sufficiently  heated,  you  take 
it  from  the  fire,  and  separate  the 
coiiting  of  oxide,  which  will  be  in 
a  grt-at  measure  reduced  to  a  me- 
tallic state,  and  you  will  And  the 
place  which  it  occupied  tinged  yel- 
low. This  process  succeeds  best 
on  glass.  Sulphateofsilver,  ground 
i  up  with  water,  answers  beiit.r  than 
j  muriate  of  silver,  which  is  cum- 
I  moidy  employed, 
j  (J /It'll  Kitaiiit'l 

I  is  obtained  directly  from  oxide  of 
I  copper.     All    the   oxides    of   this 
metal  may  be  employed.    They  re- 
quire but  little  flux,  which  must 
not  even  be  too  fusible.     One  part 
j  or  2  of  flux  is  sufficient  for  1  of 
!  oxide.     Green   niay  also   be    pro- 
i  duced  frou)  a  mixture  of  blue  and 
I  yellow.     Oxiile  of  chrome  gives  a 
fine  emerald  green  colour. 
Blue  Enamel 
,  is  obtained  from  oxide  of  cobalt : 
I  it   is,   of   all   etiamel   colours,   the 
I  most  certain   and    easily    manage- 
|able:   it  is  also  the  most  fixed  of 
'  all   colours,  and   becomes  tqxiaiJy 


J.38 


ANECDOTE    OF   MARSHAL  DE   EIIION, 


beautiful  with  a  weak  as  with  a 
strong  fire.  The  more  pure  the 
oxide  of  cobalt,  the  more  beautiful 
will  be  the  blue.  The  presence  of 
iron  is  extremely  hostile  to  this  co- 
lour, by  imparting  to  it  a  muddi- 
ness.  The  saline  fluxes  whicli  con- 
tain nitre  are  those  best  suited  for 
it;  but  the  flux  which,  with  the 
cobalt  blue,  produces  the  greatest 
brilliancy  and  splendour,  is  that 
composed  of  white  glass,  of  glass  of 
borax,  and  nitre,  with  a  minute 
portion  of  antimonial  oxide. 
Violet  Enamel. 
This  colour  is  produced  by  means 
of  black  oxide  of  antimony  with 
saline  fluxes.  By  varying  the 
fluxes,  the  shade  of  the  colour  is 
also  varied.  It  is  very  fixed  so  long 
as  it  retains  its  oxigen :  this  is,  how- 
ever, difficult  to  fix.  No  combus- 
tible substance  ought  to  come  into 
contact  with  it.    A  minute  portion 


of  oxide  of  cobalt  improves  the 
colour. 

Black  Enamel 
is  produced  by  a  n)ixture  of  oxide 
of  cobalt,  and  black  oxide  of  man- 
ganese. 

Those  who  paint  on  enamel, 
earthen  ware,  porcelain,  &,c.  must 
regulate  the  fusibility  of  the  colours 
by  the  most  tender  of  those  em^ 
ployed.  For  example,  the  purple  : 
when  the  degree  best  suited  to 
purple  has  been  found,  the  other 
less  fusible  colours  may  be  regu- 
lated by  the  addition  of  flux,  when 
it  is  necessary  to  fuse  all  the  co- 
lours at  the  same  time,  and  with  the 
same  degree  of  heat. 

The  reader  nwy  conceive  how 
much  the  diflRculties  of  this  nice 
art  are  increased,  when  the  ol/ject 
is  to  paint  designs  that  require  ex- 
treme delicacy  of  shading,  and  a 
proper  selection  of  colours. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHKS  AND  ANECDOTES. 


••>♦<■- 


ANECDOTE  OF  MARSHAL  DE  BIRON. 


This  nobleman,  who,  during 
many  years,  was  a  colonel  in  the 
French  guards,  was  not  more  dis- 
tinguished for  his  bravery  and  mi- 
litary knowledge,  than  for  the  vir- 
tues which  adorned  his  private 
character;  he  was  adored  by  his 
soldiers,  who  found  in  him  a  friend 
and  father,  and  whose  bitter  regret 
for  his  loss  was  perhaps  a  stronger 
testimony  of  his  virtues  than  the 
most  laboured  panegyric.  It  is 
well  known,  that,  during  the  Revo- 
lution, his  soldiers  frequently  en- 
deavoured to  excuse  the  excesses 
rpf  which  they  were  guilt}',  by  de- 
claring that  they  never  would  have 
-jabaudoned  the  cause  of  royalty  if 


their  beloved  commander  had  lived  : 
this  declaration,  though  no  excuse 
for  their  conduct,  was  yet  a  proof 
of  the  influence  which  he  had  ob- 
tained over  them. 

The  marshal's  revenues  were 
princely,  and  his  style  of  living 
magnificent,  without  prodigality. 
He  was  remarkable  for  doing  the 
honours  of  his  nation  to  foreigners, 
to  whom  his  table  and  his  boxes  at 
the  theatres  were  always  open. 
There  is  a  charming  anecdote  re- 
lated of  him  and  Admiral  Rodney, 
who  was  detained  at  Paris  tor  debt 
when  war  broke  out  in  1778.  The 
marshal  knew  little  of  the  admiral 
but  by  reputatiottj  but  his  brave 


ANECDOTE    OF   THE    DUC    DE    GUINES. 


139 


and  generous  soul  fully  appreciat- 
•etl  what  the  gallant  Uodiu-y  must 
feel  m  being  precluded  from  such 
an  0[;j)()riunity  of  tiistinguishing 
himself;  and,  in  the  n)ost  delicate 
manner,  he  requfsied  his  accept- 
ance of  the  loan  of  a  thousand 
louis;  observing,  at  the  same  time, 
"that  a  few  youthful  frolics  ought 
not  to  be  a  means  of  detaining  a 
brave  sailor  from  his  duty ;  and  that 
if  F'rance  were  to  detain  during 
war-time  so  valiant  an  enemy  with- 
in htr  territories,  it  would  stigma- 
tize her  with  the  reproach  of  cow- 


ardice." How  valuable  is  a  favour 
thus  conferred  !  and  how  strongly 
this  trait  reminds  us  of  the  noble 
and  chivalrous  Bayard  ! 

Two  years  afterwards  Admiral 
Rodney  defeated  the  French  Heet, 
an  event  which  sensibly  afflicted 
the  French  court,  and  perhaps  none 
felt  it  more  keenly  than  the  mar- 
shal ;  but  he  felt  also  a  proud  con- 
sciousness that  he  had  no  reproaches 
to  make  to  himself,  since  he  had 
but  done  what  the  laws  of  honour 
enjoined  towards  a  distressed  and 
gallant  enemy. 


ANECDOTE  OF  THE  DUC  DE  GUINES. 


The   Due  de   Guines,  who  was 
ambassador  at  the  courts  of  Berlin 


wishes  for  some  time,  but  at  length 
they  drew  from  him  a  promise,  that 


and   London   during  the  reign  of  |  at  the  last  ball  their  curiosity  should 
Louis  XVI.    was  a   p;irticular  fa-!  be  gratified.    Tlie  day  arrived,  and 

at  the  usual  hour  tlie  duke  appear- 


vourite  of  Marie  Antoinette's.  He 
was  also  much  distinguished  by  the 
great  Frederic,  who  admitted  him  . 
to  the  closest  intimacy;  they  fre- 
quently played  together  on  the 
flute,  an  instrument  on  which  each 
played  remarkably  well.  Few  men 
of  his  time  surpassed  the  duke  in 
wit,  elegance,  and  address:  when 
we  have  said  this,  it  is  scarcely  ne- 
cessary to  add,  that  he  was  a  gene- 
ral favourite  of  the  fair  sex.  Some 
droll  adventures  are  related  of  him, 
from  which  I  shall  select  one  that 
caused  much  mirth  at  the  time  it 
happened. 

During  the  carnival  the  duke 
formed  an  acquaintance  at  a  ball 
m  the  opera  with  two  young  ladies, 
who  appeared  much  flattered  b) 
the  attentions  he  paid  them;  but 
finding  he  did   not  unmask,  they 


ed  at  the  ball,  but  with  an  air  of 
extreme  meianchol)';  he  conjured 
the  ladies,  in  the  most  pathetic 
manner,  to  release  him  from  a  jjro- 
mise  which  it  might  cost  him  his 
life  to  comply  with.  All  his  en- 
treaties I'lad,  as  the  reader  may 
suppose,  no  other  effect  than  to 
make  the  ladies  more  desirous  to 
gratify  their  curiosity.  When  he 
found  this  was  the  case,  he  exacted 
a  soleinn  promise,  wdiich  they  very 
readily  made,  to  keep  inviolable  a 
secret, on  which  his  honour,and  per- 
haps his  life,  depended.  In  the  au- 
tumn prior  to  the  carnival,  an  assas- 
sination had  been  committed  a  few 
miles  from  Paris,  attended  with  cir- 
cumstances of  peculiar  atrocity- ; 
the  name  of  the  murderer,  who  was 
a  man  of  some  rank,  was  known,  but 


expressed  a  strong  desire  to  know  !,  till  then  he  had  c(;ntrivecl  to  elude 


who  he  was.     The  duke  carefully 
evaded   a  compliance  with    their 


the  pursuit  of  justice.  M.de  Guines 
thought,  that  by  assuming  the  t^ianfe 


140 


THE   ADVANTAGES   OF   A   TRIP   TO   PARIS   EXEMPLIED. 


of  this  monster,  he  should  have 
some  sport  with  his  fair  inquisi- 
tives;  and  accordingly  he  took 
tliem  into  one  of  the  front  hoxes, 
where,  feigning  to  be  still  reluc- 
tant to  speak,  they  reproached  him 
with  doubting  the  promise  of  se- 
crecy which  they  had  just  made. 
"  No,"  replied  he,  in  the  most  me- 
lancholy tone,  "  it  is  not  that  I 
dreail  to  place  my  life  in  your 
hands,  for  1  have  no  doubts  of  your 
discretion  ;  but  how  can  I  bear  to 
think,  tliat  in  a  moment  the  regard 
whicli  I  flattered  myself  you  felt 
for  me,  will  change  into  horror? 


Would  to  Heaven  3'ou  had  not 
drawn  from  me  this  fatal  promise! 
but  since  you  are  determined  to 
exact  the  performance  of  it,  know, 
that  in  the  being  before  you,  you 

behold   the  wretched   M ,  the 

murderer  !" 

He  had  not  time  to  say  more, 
before  they  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Hea- 
vens !  haste,  secure  this  monster  1 

he    is    the    murderer    M !" — 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  dear  ladies!" 
said  the  duke,  unmasking  ;  "  I  only 
wished  to  know  how  far  you  could 
be  trusted  to  keep  a  secret." 


MISCELLANIES. 


THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  A  TRIP  TO  PARIS  EXEMPLIFIED. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 
Paris,  July  5,  \s\6.     \,  health  :  nay,  they  were  not  content 

Sir, iFyou  have  ever,  during  Ij  with   appropriating  to  themselves 

your  boyish  days,  been  a  reader  of !{  the  whole  train   of  nervous  disor- 


Orienial  tales,  you  may  probably 
remember  one,  the  moral  of  which 
is,  tliat  an  ounce  of  experience  is 
better  than  a  pound  of  advice.  I 
am  at  tliis  moment  a  proof  of  the 
truth  of  this  sensible  adage,  for  I 
could  not  resolve  to  profit  by  the 
experience  of  some  sensible  friends 
and  neichbonrs  who  had  made  a 
tour  to  France,  and  who  assured  me 
I  should  gain  nothing  by  the  jour- 
ney but  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
comforts  to  be  enjoyed  in  Old  Eng- 
land. As  it  has  lately  become,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  in  a  great  measure,  the 


ders,  all  of  which,  however,  they 
were  sure  would  be  conquered  di- 
rectly by  the  mild  and  salubrious 
air  of  Paris,  but  they  endeavoured 
to  persuade  me,  that  a  slight  cold, 
which  I  caught  by  being  out  late 
one  wet  night,  would  certainly 
terminate  in  a  decline  if  I  did  not 
immediately  try  the  effects  of  a 
warn»er  climate.  Though  I  had 
always  a  dislike  to  leave  England, 
I  was  at  last  so  tired  out  by  hearing 
the  subject  eternally  discussed,  that 
in  an  unlucky  hour  I  consented  to 
pass  a  few  months  in  Paris.    Adieu 


fashion  to  take  a  peep  at  the  great  |  to  nerves  and  passions!  My  fair  in 


7?fl^;"o»,my  wife  and  daughters  deter- 
mined to  be  as  tonish  as  their  neigh- 
bours, and  opened  upon  me  a  grand 
battery  of  prayers,  caresses,persua- 
sipn?,  and,  finally,  complaints  of  ill 


valids  were  now  all  bustle,  gaiety, 
and  preparation  ;  and  in  less  time 
than  I  thought  they  could  have  or- 
dered what  was  necessary  for  their 
journey,  they  were  ready  to  set  out. 


THE    ADVANTAGES   OF   A    TRIP    TO    PARIS    EXEMPLIFIED. 


141 


As  uiy  daughters  had  never  he- 
fore  quitted  tlieir  paternal  mansion 
in  Derbyshire,  they  were  delighted 
with  our  journey;  and  my  wife, 
whose  natural  kindness  of  heart 
disposes  iier  to  take  pleasure  in 
seeing  others  happy,  was  in  high 
spirits  all  the  way.  I  found  the 
roads  and  accommodation  very  to- 
lerable, and  we  reached  Paris  in 
perfect  good  humour.  The  first 
thing  we  did  was  to  look  out  for 
apartments,  and  I  own  1  was  ap- 
prehensive that  my  wife,  who  is 
one  of  the  neatest  women  in  the 
world,  would  be  disgusted  with  the 
want  of  cleanliness  which  our  spa- 
cious and  well-furnished  rooms 
exhibited;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
she  assured  me,  with  a  placid 
smile,  that  they  were  not  so  bad  as 
she  ap|)rehended  they  would  be, 
and  she  thought  that  we  had  better 
remove  into  them  that  very  day,  as 
her  daughters  must  lose  no  time  in 
equipping  themselves  a  la  Fari- 
sieniie.  As  I  wished  to  see  them 
handsomely  dressed,  I  gave  my 
wife  a  sum  (I  am  ashamed,  Mr. 
Editor,  to  mention  the  amount,)  to 
buy  what  was  necessary ;  but  had 
you  seen  the  paraphernalia  which 
arrived  at  our  hotel  on  tliat  and  the 
next  day,  you  would  have  supposed 
my  wife  and  daughters  were  lay- 
ing in  a  stock  of  clothes  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives.  I  becran  seri- 
ously  to  remonstrate  with  Mrs. 
Homebred  on  this  nniu  cossary  ex- 
travagance, Init  she  assured  mel  was 
mistaken  ///  totn^  as  she  had  strictlv 
o])eycd  my  orders,  for  she  had  j)ur- 
chased  nothing  hut  what  was  abso- 
lutely necessary;  in  short,  they 
were  things  which  nobody  could  do 
without.  Now,  Mr.  Editor,  if  you 
be   married,  you   must  be  aware, 

Vol.  II.  No.  IX. 


that  wives  are  a])t  to  lay  down  cer- 
tain incomprehensible  propositions 
as  matters  ol  faith,  to  which  a  hus- 
i)and,  wlio  means  to  live  in  peace, 
must  give  his  assent ;  and  1  must 
own    that  this  was   one  of  them  : 
however,  as    it  was   the  first  time 
Mrs.   Homebred  had  required  the 
absolute   surrender  of  n^y   under- 
standing, I  swallowed  the  pill  with- 
out many  wry  faces.     But  niy  pla- 
cidity could  not  stand  the  test  of  my 
wife's  and    daughters'  appearance 
the  next  day  at  dinner.     "  In  the 
name  of   folly,"    cried    I,    "  what 
costume  do  you  call  this?" — "  La, 
papal"  cried  my  eldest  girl,  "  why 
the  costume  of  Paris,  to  be  sure." 
— "No    such    thing,"    replied    I; 
"  your  heads  are  it  la  C/iiiioise,  your 
feet  a  la  Komaiiic,  }|nur  waists  a  la 
Grecque;  as  to  your  drapery,  that 
indeed  may  be   a  la  Fravroise  for 
any  thing  1  know  to  the  contrary ; 
I  can  only  say,  in  plain  P^ngljsh, 
that  it  is  shamefully  indecent." — 
"  Indecent!"  cried  my  wife,"  how 
can  you   say  so,   Mr.    Homebred.^ 
Don't  you  see  the   girls  have  got 
i  handkerchiefs  on,  which  they  never 
!  wore  in    England?" — "  I   cry  you 
!  mercy,"  said  I,  "  so  ihey  have  in- 
'  deed  ;   but  a  handkerchief  which 
t  studiously  displays  all  that  it  was 
originally   intended   to   hide,   says 
j  little  in  favour  of  the  delicacy  of 
I  the  wearer.     But  pray,  my  dear," 
■  continued  I,  "  had  not  you  better 
loop  the  girls'  dresses  a  little  high- 
er ?" — "  Higher !"  repeated  my  wife 
i  in  a  tone  of  surprise. — "Yes,"  cried 
i  I,  "  for  at  present  they  shew  only 
the  calf  of  the  leg,  and  if  they  were 
an  inch  or  two  shorter,  they  would 
display  the  beauty  of  the  knee." 
The  girls  blushed  and  cast  down 
their  eyes,  but  the  mother  took  up 

u 


U2 


THE   ADVANTAGES   OF   A   TIllP   TO   PARIS   EXEMPLIFIED. 


the  matter  very  angrily.  "  My 
dear,"  said  I,  "  your  milliner  has 
done  her  part  so  admirably  towards 
disfiguring-  you,,  that  you  need  not 
call  anger  to  her  assistance." — 
"  Was  ever  the  like  heard  ?"  cried 
she,  now  worked  up  into  a  real 
rage;  "  any  body  but  yourself 
would  give  me  credit  for  adopting 
a  dress  so  well  calculated  for  my 
years." — "  Why,  indeed,"  replied 
I,  "  if  females  of  a  certain  age  were 
as  mucii  the  rage  here  as  in  Eng- 
land, I  miglit  think  that  you  did  it 
on  purpose  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  temptation ;  but  as  Monsieur, 
with  all  his  politeness,  would  pro- 
nounce you  poisee,  I  should  be 
sincerely  glad  to  see  you  dressed 
like  the  handsome  elegant  matron 
I  brought  with  me  from  England, 
instead  of  bein<£  loaded  with  those 
trumpery  flounces,  and  disfigured 
by  that  abominable  cap." 

As  the  former  part  of  my  speech 
had  rather  conciliated  Mrs.  Home- 
bred, she  replied  in  a  softened  tone, 
"  I  cannot  conceive,  my  dear,  why 
you  should  dislike  my  coruette,  it  is 
universally  admired." — "That  may 
be,"  cried  I,  "  but  I  protest  I  can 
see  but  one  use  it  could  ever  be 
intended  for,  and  that  is  to  deco- 
rate the  head  of  a  poissarde  at  the 
feast  of  the  goddess  of  Reason." — 
This  unlucky  speech  kindled  my 
wife's  wrath  to  such  a  degree,  that, 
as  my  daughters  were  present,  I 
thought  it  high  time,  in  common 
prudence,  to  decamp,  lest  Mrs. 
Homebred  and  I  should  come  to 
an  open  rupture. 

I  took  an  opportunity,  liowcver, 
to  talk  very  seriously  to  the  girls  ; 
and  as  thev  do  not  want  sense,  my 
exhortations  produced  a  partial  re- 
formation in  their  dress.     Mv  wife, 


however,  was  invulnerable  either 
to  reason  or  ridicule,  and  I  thought 
it  the  best  way  to  suffer  her  folly  to 
take  its  course  quietly  ;  and  indeed 
1  had  not  much  time  to  think  about 
it,  before  I  was  assailed  by  new 
vexations.  Our  letters  of  intro- 
duction soon  gained  us  a  numerous 
acquaintance,  who  took  no  small 
pains  to  divest  the  ladies  of  their 
native  rusticity,  and  substitute  in 
its  place  the  true  Parisian  air;  the 
native  lilies  and  roses  of  my  girls 
were  hid  under  a  coat  of  rouge  and 
fard  ;  and  even  my  wife,  who, 
though  she  is  nearly  fifty,  is  still  a 
remarkably  fine  woman,  wore  a  lit- 
tle rouge  in  full  dress,  because  she 
hated  to  appear  unlike  other  peo- 
ple. But  our  new  friends  were 
not  content  with  Frenchifying  our 
persons,  they  kindly  extended  their 
cares  to  our  minds  also.  A  ci-de- 
vaiit  abbe,  who  has  figured  conspi- 
cuously in  the  Revolution,  under 
pretence  of  improving  my  eldest 
daughter's  pronunciation  of  French, 
has  made,  I  am  afraid,  some  pro- 
gress in  shaking  her  faith  in  reveal- 
ed religion.  You  may  suppose  I 
forbade  the  rascal  my  house  as  soou 
as  1  discovered  the  subject  of  his 
conferences  with  my  girl,  but  I 
fear  it  will  be  some  time  before 
plain  sound  reasoning  will  be  able 
to  undo  the  mischief  which  his  so- 
phistry has  eflected. 

My  youngest  daughter,  who  is 
naturally  very  volatile,  has,  from 
associating  with  Madame  la  Mar- 
rjnise  de  J3onfront,  Madame  la  Com- 
fesse  Sans  Pudeur,  and  others  of 
their  stamp,  learned  to  laugh  at 
English  prudery,  and  to  consider 
marririge  as  a  mere  political  insti- 
tution. But  this,  though  it  sensi- 
bly affects  me,  is  not,  Mr.  Editor, 


BEFOUL    AND    AFTIK    MAUllIAGF, 


143 


my  greatest  grievance,  because,  as 
the  girls  are  naturally  well  dispos- 
ed, I  have  no  doubt  of  bcint^  able 
to  set  their  heads  to  rights  it  once 
I  could  get  them  out  of"  this  empo- 
rium of  folly  ;  but  though  the  time 
I  agreed  to  remain  lure  has  long 
been  expired,  our  departure  is  still 
obstinately  delayed  by  my  wife, 
who,  from  a  quiet,  rational,  unpre- 
tending woman,  is  metamorphosed 
into  a  politician  and  a  bel  csjirit ; 
and  when  I  add,  tliat  in  both  cha- 
racters she  talks  nonsense  as  volu- 
bly, as  confidently,  and  with  as  im- 
posing an  air  as  if  she  was  born  a 
Frenchwoman,  you  must  allow, 
that  in  seven  months  she  has  made 
great  progress. 

I  am  not,  INIr.  Editor,  a  preju- 
diced, illiberal  being, who  conceives 
that  virtue  and  talent  are  not  to  be 
found  out  of  his  own  country. 
Since  my  arrival  here,  I  have  met 
with  persons  of  both  sexes  who 
would  do  honour  to  any  nation,  but 
such  people  are  little  seen  at  this 
moment  iti  what  is  termed  good  so- 
ciety; and  when  we  take  a  retro-  j 


spect  of  events  since  tlu;  llevolu- 
tion  of  1789,  we  c.mnot  be  sur- 
prised, that  people  who  arc  in  ge- 
neral, to  sjjeuk  in  their  own  lan- 
guage, parvenus,  should  not  be  ex- 
actly calculated  for  models  fur 
their  neighbours.  There  is  also  a 
certain  ditVerence  of  disposition  be- 
tween French  and  English  women, 
which  nature  has  marked  so  dis- 
tinctly, that  an  attempt  to  engraft 
the  gay  manner  of  the  one  upon 
the  sober  character  of  the  otl>er 
can  never  succeed ;  and  when  our 
lovely  country-women  have  done 
their  possible  to  assume  the  dress, 
air,  and  manner  of  th.eir  neij^h- 
bours,  they  will  find  that  their  trou- 
ble has  a<)s\vered  no  other  purpose 
than  to  render  them  less  attractive 
in  the  eyes  of  their  countrymen, 
at  least  of  all  men  of  sense  ;  and  I 
have  too  good  an  opinioji  of  the 
taste  and  understanding  of  my  fair 
fellow-citizens,  to  think  the}'  would 
ever  wish  to  excite  the  admiration 
of  fools  or  coxcombs.  I  am,  &c. 
HaUUY  IlOMEBKED. 


BEFORE  AND  AFTER  MARRIAGE,  OR  MATRIMOXTAL 
DISAPPOINTMENTS  OF  SOLOMON  SAPIENT. 

ilir.  Editor,  iiyear;  because,  amongst  the  whole 

In  intruding  upon  your  va-  i!  circle  of  my  female  acquaintance, 

luable   time  by   a  relation   of  my     I   could    not    meet  with    one  who 

domestic  grievances,  I  am  notalto-  jj  realized  the  idea  I  had  i'lMiued  of 

gether actuated  by  selfish  motives;  '  wlmt  a  wife  oimht  to  bf.     Yonili 


though  I  will  frankly  confess,  that 
the  pleasureof  com  plaint  is  one  rea- 
son, yet  my  strongest  is  a  desire  to 
warn  others  against  the  folly  which 
has  destroyed  the  tranquillity  of  my 


and  beauty  were  qualities  I  could 
!  not  dispense  with  in  my  intended, 
I  whom  I  also  expected  to  possess 
'  good  temper, plain  sense,  and  above 
[all,  that  perfection,  rare,  alas!  in 


future  days.  Without  farther  j>re- '  a  woman,  tlie  art  of  holding  her 
face  then,  Mr.  Editor,  you  must  .!  tongue  whenever  I  did  not  wish  to 
know,  that  I  remained  a  bachelor  !  be  annoyed  by  feminine  prattle, 
till  I  had  attained  my  fort3--second  l'  It  happened  one  day,  that  an  old 

U  2 


144 


BEFORE   AND   AFTER    MARRIAGE, 


cofFee-house  acquaintance  of  mine 
was  rallying  me  on  my  remaining 
so  long  a  bachelor.  I  told  him  my  j 
reasons.  "Well,"  cried  he,  "if' 
you  have  no  other  objection  to  ma- 
trimony than  what  arises  from  the 
fear  of  not  meeting  with  a  suitable 
helpmate,  1  think  I  can  find  you 
one.  1  have  a  ward,  the  prettiest 
girl  in  England,  and  I  am  mistaken 
if  you  do  not  find  in  her  the  rara 
avis  you  have  been  so  long  in  search 
of.  You  sh;ill  dine  with  me  to- 
morrow, and  I  will  introduce  you 
to  her."  I  went,  saw,  and  was  con- 
quered.    Miss  Harriet had  a 

most  intelligent  as  well  as  beauti- 
ful countenance,  and  there  was  an 
unaffected  timidity  in  her  manner 
that  quite  captivated  me:  butwhat 
after  a  few  visits  completely  rivet- 
ed my  chains,  was  her  uncommon 
taciturnity  ;  with  all  my  address,  I 
could  seldom  extract  more  from 
her  than  a  monosyllable.  She  had 
no  fortune,  but  I  considered  her 
as  being  in  herself  a  treasure,  and 
I  urged  my  suit  with  so  much  ar- 
dour, that,  after  a  very  short  court- 
ship, we  were  uiarried. 

I  have  heard  much  of  the  honey- 
moon, but  I  can  safely  declare,  that 
mine  was  scarcely  a  honey-week; 
for  before  the  end  of  that  time,  I 
perceived  that  my  wife's  princij)al 
charm  had  vanished  :  her  monosyl- 
lables gave  place  to  long  and  tire- 
some harangues  on  the  most  frivo- 
lous subjects;  no  matter  how  I  was 
engaged,  or  who  was  present,  Lady 

A 's  sweet  cap,  or  Miss  B 's 

divine  robe,  were  descanted  upon, 
or  described,  with  the  most  pro- 
voking minuteness.  Slie  once  in- 
terrupted a  friend  of  mine  in  the 
midst  of  a  comparison  which  he 
v\as  drawing   between  the   merits 


of  Cicero  and  Demosthenes,  to  re- 
late to  us  a  hon  mot  of  Master  Le- 
muel Loveprattle,  a  child  three 
years  old,  the  hopeful  heir  of  Lord 
Shatterbrain  ;  and  another  time  she 
observed,  before  a  room  full  of 
company,  that  I  ought  to  be  asham- 
ed of  myself  for  praising  the  virtues 
of  the  Romans,  who  were,  she  ob- 
served, a  parcel  of  cruel  wretches, 
that  never  shot  even  the  military 
men  whom  they  condemned  to 
death,  although  it  was  the  easiest 
and  most  rapid  way  of  terminating 
existence.  Think  of  my  agony, 
Mr.  Editor,  to  hear  her  expose  lier 
ignorance  in  this  manner.  I  re- 
monstrated with  her  when  the  com- 
pany were  gone,  on  the  blunder 
she  iiad  conmiitted  in  talking  of 
people  being  shot  so  long  before 
gunpowder  was  invented.  I  beg- 
geil  of  her  to  confine  herself  for 
the  future  to  subjects  whic'n  she 
understood  :  but  the  only  effect  of 
i  this  conversation  was,  to  bring  out 
i  a  new  trait  in  her  disposition,  sul- 
lenness.  This,  ho^vever,  I  should 
not  have  minded,  had  htr  suUenness 
been  of  the  silent  kind,  but  tliat 
was  not  the  case:  it  is  true,  shedid 
not  talk  In  me,  but  she  was  conti- 
nually talking  at  me.  In  order  to 
get  rid  of  this  grievance,  I  took 
refuge  in  my  library  :  but  the  tran- 
quillity which  I  hoped  to  enjuy, 
was  entirely  destroyed  by  my  per- 
ceiving that  a  smart  young  officer, 
who  was  our  opposite  neighbour, 
had  commenced  a  regular  attack 
upon  my  fortress.  Perceiving,  I 
suppose,  that  my  wife  usually  anius- 
ed  herself,  when  she  was  at  home, 
by  lounging  at  the  drawing-room 
windows,  he  made  use  of  the  artille- 
ry generally  employed  on  those  oc- 
casions— bows,  smiles,  and  glances; 


THF.    FASIIIOxNABLR    MATCH-MAKER. 


145 


in  short,  he  had  ^oi  as  far  as  kiss- 
in":  olh;uiJs  hefore  I  observed  him. 
You  may  suppose  1  lost  no  time  in 
putting  an  end  to  this  dangerous 
intercourse,  but  in  order  to  do  so, 
1  was  obliged  to  take  my  wife  from 
London  ;  and  as  my  ill  fortune 
would  have  it,  I  carried  her  to  pay 
a  visit  to  an  aunt  of  hers,  who  had 
pressingly  solicited  our  company. 
This  good  lady,  who  has  buried 
two  husbands,  is  now  a  third  time 
a  caiulidaie  for  n)atrimony.  Slie 
received  us  with  much  kindness, 
and  I  i)egan  to  hope  that  she  would 
be  of  considerable  service  in  cor- 
recting the  faults  of  my  helpmate. 
How  rational  these  expectations 
were,  you  may  judge  from  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  proceed- 
ed with  her  iirst  husband,  a  man 
of  a  remarkably  quiet  easy  tem- 
per, and  of  a  delicate  constitution. 
Finding  that  he  hated  noise  above 
all  things,  she  declared  he  was  trou- 
bleo  with  the  vapours,  and  that 
com[)any  and  amusement  were  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  prevent  his 
going  into  alow  nervous  way.  She 
acctjrdingly  filled  his  house  with  a 
set  of  dissipated  young  people  oi 
both  sexes,  who  kept  up  a  racket 
from  morning  till  night,  and  from 
night  till  morning.  In  vain  did  the 
p(;or  man  declare,  that  her  mis- 
taken kindness  would  be  the  death 
of  him  ;  she  replied,  tl.at  slie  knew 
her   duty  too  well    to    indulge   his 


vapourish  whims,  which  she  was 
persuaded  she  took  the  right  way 
to  remove.  She  did  remove  them 
elFectualiy,  for  he  died  at  the  end 
of  six  months. 

Her  next  husband  was  composed 
of  tougher  materials,  for  he  sur- 
vived his  marriage  for  some  years; 
nor  do  I  know  how  she  managed  to 
get  rid  of  him.  I  had  been,  how- 
ever, for  some  time  in  her  house 
before  I  heard  this  anecdote,  and 
when  I  did  I  lost  no  time  in  quitting 
it.  But,  alas!  Mr.  Editor,  the  mis- 
chief was  already  done :  silly  as  my 
helpmate  naturally  is,  it  is  incon- 
ceivable what  progress  she  has  made 
in  the  art  of  tormenting;  not  con- 
tent with  giving  a  mortal  stab  to 
my  quiet  by  her  incessant  and  ri- 
diculous prattle,  she  destroys  mj 
fortune  by  her  extravagance,  and 

[  endangers  my  honour  by  her  levity. 

;  It  is  true,  there  is  one  remedy — I 
might  part  with  her,  but  she  has 
just  presented  me  with  a  lovely 
little  girl,  for  whose  sake  I  feel  an 
unconquerable  repugnance  to  the 
only  measure  that  could   give  me 

j  peace.     If,  however,  I  can  neither 

}  l)e  easy  nor  happy  mj'self,  I  will  at 

j  least  indulge  a  hope,  that  my  ex- 
ample may  deter  other  old  bache- 

!  lors  from  being  guilty  of  a  similar 
folly.  In  this  hope,  I  have  the  ho- 
nour to  subscribe  myself  your  con- 
St  ant  reader, 

1  Solomon  Sapient. 


THE  FASHIONABLE  MATCH-MAKER: 

A    TALE. 

(Continued  from  p.  81.) 

Lady  Lindkrmere,  at  the  time  ]  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  moved, 


we  take  up  our  pen,  had,  however, 
lost  some  small  share  of  her  popu- 
larity among   the  single  males  in 


from  her  manner  of  pushing  her 
daughters  into  wedlock.  Many  per- 
sons resolved  to  avoid  the  "priestes* 


146 


THE    FASHIONABLE    RIATCH-MAKEK. 


of  Hymen;"  butwlio  could  refrain 
from  attending  parties  to  which 
everij  body  went?  and  when  once 
with  her  in  a  dravving-roon),  you 
delighted  to  be  near  her.  Her  at- 
tentions possessed  a  magical  inBu- 
ence,  and  you  were  led  by  the  ignis 
J'aiaus  of  her  smiles,  to  commend 
every  thing  she  uttered.  What 
rout  could  be  brilliant  without  her? 
.She  even  Hi  up  whist  and  quadrille; 
loo  and  cassino  immediately  lan- 
guished at  her  departure.  What 
satisfaction  would  some  mothers 
have  felt  in  possessing  two  such 
daughters  as  the  Miss  Lindermeres! 
Imagine  to  yourself  the  form  of 
fashion  and  the  mould  of  grace, 
with  the  manners  of  the  old  scliooi 
corrected  by  the  frankness  of  the 
new. 

Enter  Lady  Lindermere,  leaning 
on  two  foils — these  are  her  daujih- 
ters.  There  are  different  classifi- 
cations of  the  brute  animal  in  na- 
tural history,  and  if  there  were 
also  similar  ones  with  regard  to 
intellectual  animals,  we  should  say, 
that  the  Miss  Lindermeres  were  of 
the  genus  of  the  good  sort  of  girls 
enough.  But  they  were  short  and 
squat:  they  r/iVi  waltz  and  play  the 
harp ;  but  in  the  pirouette  they  dis- 
played ancles  too  thick  for  those  of 
a  Grace,  and  in  reaching  the  harp- 
strings  their  arms  were  stretched 
to  a  painful  extent.  In  their  man- 
ners they  were  equally  gauche. 
They  could  not  tell  ten  thousand 
white  lies  in  a  given  time;  they 
could  not  affect  to  be  extremely 
sorry  at  the  death  of  a  maiden  aunt 
or  a  pug-dog,  or  rejoice  and  grieve 
at  what  did  not  concern  them.  At 
whist  they  once  revoked!  nor  did 
they  at  all  excel  in  a  number  of 
those  trifles  to  which  fashion  gives 


eclat,  hut  whose  nothingness  is,  ^ve 
confess,  sometimes  gained  at  the 
expense  of  better  employment.  If 
you  saw  them  charming,  you  saw 
not  half  those  charms  their  ill-set 
fashions  concealed  ;  they  were  not 
daughters  in  accord  w\tU  Lady  Lin- 
dermere, and  all  her  injunctions, 
her  commands,  and  even  threats, 
might  as  well  have  been  thrown 
away  in  converting  ploughboys,  or 
teaching  the  hel  air  to  dairy- 
maids. 

Fortunately,  however,  for  the  fair 
sex,  there  are  different  ideas  of 
the  styles  and  gradations  of  beauty ; 
?ind  it  is  fortunate  for  many  dam- 
sels, that  every  body  does  not  judge 
of  it  by  the  standard  of  Phidias  or 
Flaxman.  Dorinda  Lindermere  was 
under  the  common  size,  and  na 
more  like  the  statueof  the  Venus  de 
Medicis,  or  any  other  Venus,  than  I 
to  Hercules.  She  was  embonpoint 
and  set.  Her  face  was  as  round  as 
most  good-natured  faces  usuallyare. 
Her  nose  was  what  an  artist  would 
call  infamous;  but  her  eyes  were 
dark,  large,  and  full.  Her  teeth  were 
not  bad,  and  her  cheeks  were  at 
least  equal  to  the  colour  of  those 
which  her  mother  bought  in  Pic- 
cadilly. Sir  Theodore  Johnson  had 
danced  with  her  at  Lady  Challon- 
cr's ;  her  mother  had  asked  all  about 
and  about  her  partner  in  the  course 
of  the  evening,  and  as  he  was  hand- 
ing her  to  her  carriage^  he  received 
an  invitation  for  a  visit  at  Farley- 
House  any  morning  he  pleased. 
A  w^eek  elapsed,  however,  and  no 
Sir  Theodore.  Another  came,  and 
Sir  Theodore  refrained  from  a  visit : 
but  if  you  expect  us,  gentle  reader, 
to  tell  "why  he  comes  not  yet^'* 
you  only  expect  that  whicii  will 
only  jwze  us,  without  affording  any 


THE    FASHIONABLE    MATCH-MAK  fill. 


147 


satisfaction  to  yourself.  Sir  Theo- 
dore was  a  mighty  lack-a-daisyisli 
sort  of  a  gentleman  ;  he  sometimes 
thought  he  had  better  marry,  and 
sometimes  that  he  had  better  not; 
and  once  nnder  the  dominion  of 
the  former  idea,  he  was  thinking  of 
calling  that  morning  on  Dorinda, 
and  had  ordered  liis  horse  for  Gros- 
venor-square,  when  Noverrc  pre- 
sented him  with  a  card,  on  which 
he  read,  "  I.ady  Lindermere  at 
liome  on  Friday,  June  the  10th." 
Bnt  how  came  it  tliat  Lady  Lin- 
dermere, a  strong  stickler  for  eti- 
quette, invited  a  young  man  to  her 
party,  who  had  not  deigned  to  call 
on  her  after  being  invited  ?  Was 
this  probable,  from  a  lady  who  was 
even  a  slave  to  ceremony?  Hold 
thy  tongue,  gentle  reader,  for  we 
shall  not  pretend  to  answer  your 
whys  and  your  wherefores.  Head 
our  tale  as  we  think  proper  to  write 
it,  or  lay  it  down.  If  that  wont 
content  you,  and  you  must  have  a 
reason,  we  tell  you  she  did  so — 
because  she  did  so — or  things  must 
give  way  to  circumstances,  or 


Sir  Theodore  Johnson  had  a  clear 
income  of  10,000/.  a  year,  expec- 
tancies, and  a  seat  in  the  House. 
He  had  often  talked  at  random  of 
running  in  the  curricle  of  wedlock 
— of  curbs,  and  reins,  and  liberty; 
he  had  long  been  the  butt  of  mo- 
thers, aunts,  and  aspiring  maidens. 
He  would  have  cultivated  the  Lin- 
dermere connection,  but  this  last 
hint  threw  him  off,  and  he  deter- 
mined, or  at  least  he  thoujrht  he  de- 
termined,  never  to  see  his  dear 
Dorinda  more!  A  short  time,  how- 
ever, after  thereceiptof  thiscard,  he 
flopped a.t  Phillipb's  on  her  ladyship, 
who  paying  him  so  many  adroit 
coraplimo^nts  on  his  taste  in  a  bau- 


ble he  had  just  purchased  for  a 
cool  hundred,  that  he  found  it  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  be  at  the  party 
of  a  woman  who  possessed  so  pro- 
found a  taste  in  affairs  of  elejjant 
virtu. 

Just  before  he  became  a  dangler 
at  Lady  Lindermere's  —  for  Sir 
Theodore,  after  this  party,  did  be- 
come a  dangler  at  her  ladyship's — 
as  he  was  one  morning  driving  all 
the  way  from  Pail-Mall  to  Bond- 
street,  and  from  Bond-street  to 
Pail-Mall,  v.itli  his  reins  lying  slo- 
venly on  the  horses'  back-^,  he  en- 
countered a  young  lady,  who,  iii 
crossing  the  street  and  in  endea- 
vourinir  to  avoid  the  vulcrar  con- 
cussion  of  a  hackney  coacii,  pre- 
cipitated herself  immediately  on 
the  pole  of  Sir  Tiieotlore's  carriage, 
to  which  two  of  the  finest  cliesntit 
horses  in  nature  were  aflixed;  and 
their  master  not  being  able  or  ready 
to  pull  up  the  aforesaid  ehesnul.*, 
suffered  them  to  throw  down  the 
lady,  and  had  well  nigh  grievously- 
vexed  and  damaged  tlieunrortunate 
cause  of  his  stoppage.  The  po- 
pulace, however,  did  for  Sir  Theo- 
dore what  he  was  unable  to  do  him- 
self; they  stojiped  the  beasts — res- 
cued the  girl  from  an  impending 
sudden  death,  and  conveyed  her 
to  Hookham's  in  something  like  an 
hysteric.  Sir  Theodore  very  pro- 
perly gave  the  recreant  iiorses  to 
James,  and  followed  the  distressed 
damsel,  whose  beauty  indeed  had 
been  the  cause  of  her  misl.ap,  by 
diverting  the  eyes  of  our  baronet 
from  jeliuitical  caution.  He  ac- 
comjjanied  her,  and  beheld,  during 
a  paroxysm  of  this  hysteric,  the 
prettiest  foot  and  ancle  ever  formed 
by  nature;  and  we  record  it  as  a 
testimony  of  rare  philoso|)hy  in  Sir 


148 


DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED. 


Theodore,   that   while   some   men 
would  have  been  so  much  alarn)ed  I 
on  this  occasion  as  scarcely  to  know  ; 
theaj^e  of  the  person  they  had  near-  ' 
ly  killed  from  carelessness,  he  was  j 
surveying,  with  all  the  cool  dignity  ' 
of  an    ancient  Roman,  the   effect  I 
the   accident    had   produced.      Sir 
Theodore  Johnson,  most  unfortu-  j 
nately   for    Dorinda    Lindermere,  ' 
was   an  amateur  of  pretty  ancles, 
and  he  gazed  on  the  one  now  be- 
fore him  till  some  part  of  the  dress 
of  the  unconscious  fair  one,  more 
decorous  than  the  other,  hid  it  from 
sight,  but   not    until   the  amateur 
had  become  deeply  interested  in 
the  fate  of  its  owner. 

He  was  well  known  atHookham's: 
the  lady,  during  her  half  breathing 
and  palpitations,  had  distinctly 
heard  his  name  apostrophized  ;  she 
now  recovered,  and  receiving  his 
profound  apologies  with  renewed 
blushes,  as  she  declared  she  was 
r.ot  at  all  injured  by  the  mischance, 
hut  found  herself  able  to  walk  to 
Mrs.  Gunning's,  which  was  only  in 
the  next  street,  without  the  curri- 
cle, or  the  more  humble  medium 


of  a  hackney  coach.  On  the  fol- 
lowing morning  Noverre  was  sent 
with  his  master's  compliments  to 
Pall-Mall,  to  enquire  after  the 
health  of  Miss  Gunning,  at  "Mrs. 
Gunning's  Promenade  des  Modes.'''' 
The  course  of  true  love  did  never 
run  smoothly.  This  is  a  mere  asser- 
tion of  one  Mr.  Shakspeare,  which 
we  in  one  instance  mean  to  confute, 
unless  our  readers  doubt  Sir  Tiieo- 
dore  was  a  true  lover.  He  said  he 
was  all  fire  and  fury — for  in  saun- 
tering up  Pali-Mall,  just  pour  pas- 
ser le  terns,  he  saw  at  a  window  at  the 
Promenade  des  Modes,  that  a  suite 
of  rooms  lately  occupied  by  the 
illustrious  P was  to  be  let  im- 
mediately. There  may  be  people 
impertinent  enough  to  wonder  why 
Sir  Theodore,  having  elegant  apart- 
nients  at  the  Albany,  should  re- 
quire any  in  Pall-Mall.  We  shall 
not  answer  any  rude  questions ; 
suffice  it  to  say,  he  came,  saw,  and 
took  them :  in  other  words,  in  one 
little  week  he  became  an  inmate  at 
Mrs.  Gunning's. 

C  To  he  concluded  in  onr  next.) 


THE  DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM 
TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED  : 

A     STORY     FOUNDED     ON     FACT. 

By  Augustus  von  Kotzebue. 
(Concluded  from  p.  9().J 


Fate  decreed  that  the  old  ba- 
chelor   with    w  liom    Count    S 


went  to  dine,  should  be  seized,  af- 
ter eating  a  hearty  dinner,  with  a 
violent  cholic.  The  pleasure  of  the 
day  was  spoiled  ;  the  host  was  car- 
ried to  bed,  and  the  guests  sepa- 
rated. In  consequence  of  this  un- 
expected attack,  the  young  count 
returned  home  about  eleven  o'clock, 


and  was  informed  that  Emily  was 
gone  to  spend  tlie  evening  at  Cap- 
tain B.'s.  This  intelligence  gave 
'..im  no  uneasiness;  he  walked  cool- 
ly to  and  fro,  confident  that  the 
presence  of  the  captain's  wife  was  a 
sure  pledge,  that  the  bounds  of  de- 
corum would  not  be  transgressed 
there.  The  clock,  however,  struck 
one,  and  no  Emily  came.   Another 


DANGER  or  THE  SMALLEST  DF.VlATlUN   1  UUM  TKUIU   ILLUS'l  KATI.D.  i  49 


return. 

The  count  now  l)cgan  to  lie  un- 
easy. "  W'liiii  can  tins  mean  f" 
ihonslit  lie:  "she  never  stavs   so 


hour  passed,  and  still  she  tliil  not     down  to  reail,  look  up  a  magazine, 

but  though  his  eyes  were  stediastly 
(ixed  on  the  pa^es,  he  knew  not  a 
word  they  contained.  He  went  to 
the  pianortorte,  sounded  a  chord, 

late  as  this."     He  counted  every  ;  but  his  fingers  remained  motionless 

upon  tlie  keys.  Tlie  clock  struck 
SIX,  and  his  impatience  increased 
to  the  highest  jjitch ;  it  struck  se- 
ven, and  he  could  no  longer  en- 
dure the  cruel  suspense. 

*'  Jf  the  countess  comes  home," 
said  he  to  his  valet,  "  tell  her  that 
I  am  gone  to  the  coffee-house  to 
breakfast."  This  was  ihejifth  un- 
truth; for  instead  of  going  to  the 
coffee-house,  he  went  straight  to 
Captain  B.'s.  Laura  had  passed 
the  night  in  the  satne  manner  as 
the  count;  and  indeed  still  worse, 
tor  she  was  sincerely  attached  to 


minute,  and  nunibercd  every  hour 
that  struck.  When  lie  heard  a  car- 
riage rattling  at  a  distance,  he  in- 
stantly ti)ouglit,"  That  is  she  ;"  but 
still  he  was  disappointed.  Wlien 
he  heard  footsteps  in  the  street, 
lie  cried,  "  There  she  comes;"  but 
still  she  came  not.  As  long  as  it 
was  dark  he  was  all  ear;  not  the 
smallest  sound  escaped  him,  and 
lie  fancied  every  one  had  relation 
to  Knnly.  Some  one  knocked  at 
the  door  of  a  neigiibouring  iihysi- 
eian.  "  l'ossil)ly  she  may  have 
been  taken  ill,"  thought  he. 


It  wastohimthemostterrible,the  I  the  captain.  She  had,  however, 
most  tedious  of  nights,  such  as  the  i  enjoyed  one  comfort,  wliich  is  al- 
bewildered  wanderer  alone  passes  [  ways  at  the  command  of  women — 
in  a  dreary  forest.  He  needed  only  I  namely,  tears.  This  the  count  per- 
to  have  sent  to  inquire  the  reason  '  ceived  i'roni  ht  r  eyes,  which  were 
of  his  wife's  stay;  but  that  he  did  '"t'd  vvitii  weeping — he  perceived 
not  chuse  to  do.  "1  will  see,"  I '^ '^nd  tremble  d.  "Hasanyacci- 
thought  he,  "  how  far  sl:c  will  car-  -  dent  happened  to  my  wife?"  oried 
ry  it  :  if  she  knows  that  I  am  at  !j  ii«i  hastily  to  Laura, 
home,  she  will  have  leisure  to  de-  '  luura.  I  hope  not. 
vise  some  excuse  or  other  for  her  ';  Count.  Is  she  gone  from  hence, 
absence;  but  if  she  is  surprised  by  j!  then? 

the  sight  of  me,  sl;e  will  not  have  |!      Laura.  She  left  me  at  half-past 
time  to  prepare  herself,  and  I  shall  (i  three. 


|)erliaps  read  upon  her  glowing  | 
cheek  theconfcssion  of  he  rshaine."  i 
At  length  it  grew  light,  and  now  { 
his  ears  were  relieved  in  their  duty  ' 
by  his  eyes.  As  often  as  he  rnea-  j 
sured  the  room  with  hasty  step,  so  | 


Count,   Did  nothing  ail  her  ? 

Laura.  ()  no  !  nothing  at  all. 

CoHiit.  vVnd  whither  was  site 
going  ? 

Laura.  Home,  I  suppose. 

Count.  Home  !  but  she  has  not 
been  there.     1  have  just  come  from 


often  did    he  stop  at  the  window 
and    look  out,   not  onlv   the  way  11  home. 

which  s'ne  was  to  come,  but  also  Laura( invioleut agitation). WcW, 
that  by  which  she  could  not  possi-  i  then,  1  don't  know  where  she  can 
hiy  be  expected.     His  anxiety  in-  I  1)6  gone  to. 

creased    every   n-.inute.      He    sat  I      Count.  Did  she  go  alon^?.  ,. .  . 
f'n!.  If.  Xo.  I\\  X 


150dAx\G£R  or  THE  SMALLKST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH   ILLUSTRATED. 


Laura  (reprashig  her  tears).  My 
liusbdiid  accompanied  her. 

Count.  Indeed!  And  they  have 
been  gone  three  hours  and  a  halt? 
It  is  very  extraordinary  ! 

Laura  trembled  all  over.  She 
would  fain  have  given  free  vent  to 
her  tears,  but  then  she  would  have 
betrayed  her  inmost  thoughts.  T\\e 
fear  of  exciting  in  the  count  a  sus- 
picion, to  which  he  was  perhaps 
yet  a  stranger,  and  thereby  fur- 
nishing occasion  for  a  duel,  which 
might  endanger  the  life  of  her 
husband,  restrained  her.  She  dis- 
sembled as  well  as  she  could,  while 
the  flame  within  raged  the  more 
furiousl}'.  The  count  was  in  the 
same  predicament,  and  yet  he  de- 
termined to  remain  at  Laura's  till 
her  husband  returned.  They  agreed 
to  breakfast  together.  The  choco-  i 
late  was  brought  in  ;  tliey  raised 
the  cups  to  their  lips,  but  without 
drinking ;  and  the  toast,  which  they 
tried  to  eat,  they  were  unable  to 
swallow.  Never  were  two  persons 
so  constrained  and  oppressed  by 
each  other's  society. 

To  the  great  alleviation  of  both, 
a  doctor,  to  whom  1  shall  give  the 
name  of  Tattle,  came  to  inquire 
after  the  lady's  health.  He  was  a 
polite  little  man,  who  was  to  be 
seen  every  where,  who  knew  every 
thing,  and  laughed  at  every  thing; 
in  short,  a  living  chronicle  of  all 
the  scandal  of  the  town,  which 
caused  him  to  be  universally'  con- 
sidered as  an  agreeable  companion. 
No  sooner  did  he  remark  that 
Laura  was  absent,  and  the  count 
reserved,  than  he  exerted  all  his 
art  to  cheer  up  their  spirits,  but 
without  success. 

He  felt  Laura's  pulse,  "  llather 
feverish,  madatu,"  suid  he. 


"  Very  likely,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  ails  you  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"Oho!  nothing  but  a  pretty 
whim,  an  amiable  caprice.  But  do 
you  know,"  cotitinued  he,  with  a 
roguish  look,  "  that  it  is  in  my 
power  to  change  your  whim  into 
earnest  ?" 

"  How  so?" 

"  Why the  captain " 

"  Well,  what  of  the  captain  ? 
What  has  he  done  ?" 

"  That  he  best  knows  himself. 
For  n>y  part,  I  know  no  more  than 
that  1  saw  him  half  an  hour  ago  in 
tlie  park,  not  far  from  the  keeper's 
lodge,  and  in  company  with  a  very 
handsome  and  elegant  female." 

"  Very  likely,"  rejoined  Laura, 
with  a  tone  designed  to  denote  in- 
difference, but  which  the  glow  of 
her  cheeks  proved  to  proceed  from 
a  very  different  sentiment. 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  the  count,  with 
an  accent  intended  to  express  in- 
terrogation, but  which  betrayed  the 
keenest  vexation. 

Dr.  Tattle  began  to  imagine  that 
he  had  made  a  discovery,  and  de- 
termined to  ascertain  the  accuracy 
of  his  suspicions.     "  I   hope,   ma- 
dam,"   said    he,    "  that    you    will 
know     how   to    take    a    joke;    for 
though  I  was  not  near  enough  to 
[  recognize  the  lady  with  whom  your 
husband  was  walking,  still  I  could 
perceive  that  she  was  perfectly  well 
dressed,    and    her    whole    manner 
j  sliowed    that  she   was  not  of   the 
'  common  order." 

j  This  was  more  tlian  sufficient  to 
!  aggravate  the  torments  of  the  count 
j  and  Laura  to  the  utmost.  Anxiety 
and  rage  were  manifest  in  every 
{  movement.  The  lips  were  silent, 
'  but    quivered    convulsively.     The 


DANGER  OF  THE   SMALLEST  DEVIATION  FROM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED. 


101 


doctor  perceived  that  his  company 
was  superfluous,  and  would  have 
retired.  At  this  nionient  the  cap- 
tain entered.  The  presence  ot"  tlie 
doctor,  ligluly  as  it  weighed,  was 
nevertheless  some  restraint  upon 
the  count.  In  a  tone  that  was 
meant  for  jocose,  hut  that  con)- 
plelfly  (ailed  of  its  effect,  he  ac- 
costed ilie  captain  with,  "  What 
have  you  done  with  my  wife  r" 

The  captain  perceived,  from  the 
count's  looks,  that  all  was  not  right ; 
the  eyes  of  his  wife  betrayed  the 
traces  of  tears;  he  conjectured  the 
suspicions  of  both,  and  therefore 
thought  jt  better  to  say  nothing 
conctrning  the  walk  in  the  park. 
*'  I  left  Emily,"  replied  he,  "  at 
her  cousin's,  who  is  not  well,  and 
wished  for  her  company  to  break- 
fast. What  is  since  become  of  her 
I  don't  know." 

This  was  the  sixth  falsehood,  and 
the  honest  captain  could  not  pro- 
nounce it  without  stammering.  The 
count  was  silent,  though  his  bosom 
was  convulsed  with  passion.  He 
coldly  took  his  leave  and  retired, 
accompanied  by  Dr.  Tattle. 

When  the  captain  and  Laura 
were  left  to  themselves,  they  soon 
came  to  a  mutual  explanation,  in 
which  the  honest  frankness  of  the 
former  easily  overcame  all  the  sus- 
picions of  his  wife.  But  he  now 
learned,  to  his  terror,  that  his  walk 
in  the  park  had  been  betrayed  by 
Dr.  Tattle;  he  saw  what  conse- 
quences might  result  from  the  little 
deviation  from  truth  which  he  had 
inconsiderately  allowed  himself. 
He  entreated  his  wife  to  hasten  to 
Emily's  cousin,  to  concert  with  her 
the  means  of  warning  Emily  of  her 
danger,  and,  in  particular,  to  ad- 


vise her  to  conceal  nothing  from 
her  husl)aii(.l. 

L.anra  drove  immediately  to  the 
cousin's.  'I"he  count  had  already 
i)een  there,  and  had  learned,  partly 
from  the  unstress,  and  partly  iVom 
her  servants,  that  Emily  had  not 
staid  there  above  half  an  hour. 
With  this  conlirmation  of  his  tor- 
turing suspicions  he  had  hastily  de- 
parted. 

Laura  instantly  sat  down,  and 
wrote  the  following  note  : — 

"  Dear  Emi/ij, 

"  1  am  very  uneasy  on  your 
account.  Your  husband  knows  that 
you  were  in  the  park  with  mme. 
He  is  jealous,  and  I  must  confess 
that  I  was  n)yself  not  without  sus- 
picions. But  now,  since  I  have 
spoken  to  my  husband,  I  am  con- 
vinced of  your  innocence  and  his. 
I  know  how  accident  has  played 
with  you,  and  am  even  informed  by 
your  cousin  how  heartily  you  de- 
sired to  get  rid  of  his  company.  1 
entreat  you  to  be  perfectly  candid 
to  the  count,  as  my  husband  has 
been  to  me.  It  is  the  only  way  to 
prevent  ill  consequences.  '^  our's, 
"  Laura. 

"  P.  S.  To  avoid  the  appearance 
of  any  collusion,  the  bearer  of  this 
is  directed  to  say,  that  he  has 
broucfht  it  from  your  milliner." 

This  was  the  seventh  apparently 
innocent  lie,  to  which  Laura  was 
induced  by  the  consideration  that 
the  count  might  intercept  her  note, 
and  then  put  Emily's  frankness  to 
the  test,  without  mentioning  any 
thing  of  its  contents. 

Emily   had    meanwhile   reached 
her  home,  and  learned,  with  con- 
sternation,   that   her   husband  re- 
turned in    the  evening,    and   had 
X2 


I5i  DANGER  OF  THE  SMALLEST  DEVLVTION  FUOM  TRUTH  ILLUSTRATED- 


waited  for  her  all  night.  She  per- 
ceived at  the  first  glance  the  disa- 
greeable nature  of  her  situation. 
"And  where  is  he  now?"  cried  she 
hastily.  "At  the  coffee-house  close 
by,"   was  tlie  reply. 

Glad  to  have  gained  a  few  mo- 
ments respite,  she  strove  to  muster 
all  her  courage;  but  before  slie 
had  half  accomplished  her  purpose 
the  count  entered.  At  the  first  look 
he  imagined  that  he  could  read  his 
wife's  guilt  in  her  sudden  change 
of  colour.  His  fury  was  ready  to 
break  forth;  but  with  great  exer- 
tion he  repressed  it,  and  with  dis- 
sembled serenity  inquired  how  and 
where  she  had  spent  the  night. 

"At  Captain  B.'s,"  said  Emily 
stammering;  "he  was  upon  guard 
— Laura  wished  me  to  keep  her 
company — the  time  passed  away  in 
reading  an  interesting  book  till  it 
was  much  later  than  we  thought. — 
The  captain  returned — and  would 
have  accompanied  me  home — but 
considering  it  unbecoming, I  alight- 
ed  at  my  cousin's." 

Hereshe  broke  off,  and  was  silent. 
*' Then  you  are  just  come  from 
your   cousin's?"     said    the   count, 
looking  sternly  at  her. 

What  was  Emily  to  reply?  She 
had  stopped  in  her  narrative;  but 
why  did  she  stop? — The  confession 
of  the  walk  would  now  come  too 
late — the  count  might  imag-ine  that 
it  was  extorted  by  fear — he  might 
wonder  why  she  had  suppressed  this 
accident,  which  perhaps  in  his  eyes 
might  be  far  from  seeming  acciden- 
tal— besides,  what  risk  did  she  run  if 
she  concealed  from  him  this  trifle? 
He  had  been  all  the  morning  at  the 
coffee-house,  and  of  course  could 
not  know  any  thing  about  it — and 
if  she  lost  no  time  in  warning  her 


cousin,  that  they  might  be  both  in 
one  story,  she  might  thus  avoid  a 
scene  of  the  most  disagreeable 
kind.  All  these  reflections,  which 
flashed  across  her  mind  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  induced  her 
to  tell  tUecig/ith  lie,  and  to  answer 
the  count's  question — whether  sh© 
was  just  come  from  her  cousin's — > 
in  the  affirnlalive.  But  her  Fes  was 
brought  out  witli  such  hesitation, 
itso  lingered  half  pronounced  upon 
!:er  lips,  and  her  burning  cheek  so 
plainly  said,  No — that  the  count 
considered  the  infidelity  of  his  wife 
as  fully  proved.  The  captain  had 
concealed  from  him  the  very  same 
point — and  what  was  more  natural 
than  to  attribute  the  circumstance 
to  a  concerted  arrangement? 

Having  eyed  Emily  for  a  moment 
with  a  look  of  supreme  contempt, 
he  rushed  out  of  the  room.  At 
the  door  he  met  a  boy  bringing 
Laura's  note,  and  angrily  inquired 
his  business. 

"  Here  is  a  note  for  the  countess," 
said  the  boy. 
"From  whom  r" 
"  From  her  milliner." 
"  Give  it  to  me.     She  has  some- 
thing else  to  do  just  now  than  to 
think  of  caps  and  ribbons." 

With  these  words  he  snatched 
the  note  out  of  the  boy's  hand, 
doubled  it  up,  and  put  it  unopen- 
ed into  his  pocket. 

He  then  hurried  away  like  a  ma- 
niac, and  proceeded  straight  to  the 
captain's,  where  he  found  nobody 
at  home.  He  took  a  card,  upon 
which  he  wrote  these  words;  — 
"  Count  S —  expects  Captain  B — 
at  the  Golden  Lion  Inn,  and  begs 
him  not  to  forget  his  sword." 

7'he  Golden  Lion  was  but  a  few 
paces  from  the  captain's  residence. 


I)ANGr.R  OF  THE  SMALLEST  I)L:VL\T10N  I  ROM  Till  111   ILLl'STHATr  D.   1 -'33 


Thitlier  tlie  count  repaired,  dc^iretl  j 
to  be  shown  into  a  back  room,  and  ^ 
ordered  a  bottle  of  wine.  In  about 
hall  an  i.our  be  rani;  for  a  second 
bottle.  It  was  l)rou<^lit  bini.  'The 
people  of  the  bouse  remarked  sonie- 
tliin<^iXtraordliiary  about  bini ;  and 
the  waiter  pretended  to  be  busy  in 
the  room,  that  he  nii<j;ht  have  an 
opporiunlly  of  watebinu;  bis  mo- 
tions. The  count  sat  l)ititii:;  ins 
nails,  and  spilt  as  much  wine  as  he 
poured  into  bis  glass.  It  was  a 
considerable  liaie  before  he  was 
aware  of  the  presence  of  the  waiter, 
and  as  soon  as  he  was  sensilile  of 
it,  he  drove  him  furiously  out  of 
the  room. 

Meanwhile  his  last  look  at  Emil\-, 
full  of  ra^^eand  despair, had  plung- 
ed the  poor  creature  into  the  most 
cruel  disiress.  Impelled  by  pain- 
ful apprehensions,  she  wrote  a  con- 
fused note  to  her  cousin,  and  ano- 
ther still  more  confused  to  the  cap- 
tain, acquainting  both  with  what 
had  passed,  and  requesting  them 
to  confirm  lu  r  account,  in  case  her 
husband  should  make  inquiries  of 
them. 

Her  cousin,  with  wliom  Laurastill 
was,  received  this  note,  and  learn- 
ed at  the  same  time  the  tniscarriage 
of  that  which  had  been  sent  to  the 
countess.  Laura  trembled,  and 
hastily  threw  herself  into  the  car- 
riage to  return  and  warn  iier  hus- 
band. She  came  too  late.  I'iie 
captain  hail  already  received  the 
count's  card,  as  well  as  the  coun- 
tess's note,  and  had  immediately 
repaired  to  the  Gcdden  Lion. 

He  asked  for  the  count,  and  was 
tishered  intotheback  room.  Hcpo 
litely  saluted  the  count,  who,  with- 
out returning  his  civilities,  sprang 
up  and  ran  to  the  door,  which  he 


locked.  He  then  turned  to  bisanta- 
gonist,  and  with  a  tone  and  manner 
of  the  most  oHensive  arrogance, 
addressed  him  thus: — "  Vou  have 
assured  me,  sir,  that  you  have  n(<t 
seen  my  wife  since  you  left  her  at 
her  cousin's.  I  now  ask  you  for 
the  last  time:   Is  that  true,  or  not?" 

The  captain  was  not  accustomed 
to  this  kind  ol'  interrogatory.  He 
grew  warm,  and  re[)l>ed,  "Sir, 
when  I  asstrrt  a  thing,  ■i/oii  have  no 
right  to  doubt  it." 

Thus  by  a  ////////  untruth  he  con- 
firmed all  the  preei  ding  ones.  The 
consequence  was,  that  the  count 
furiously  drew  his  sword,  rushed 
upon  him,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
extended  him,  by  a  mortal  uo\ind 
in  tiie  breast,  upon  the  iloor. 

The  people  of  the  liouse,  alarmed 
by  t!ie  clashing  of  the  swords,  burst 
open  the  door ;  but  it  was  too  late. 
1  he  captain  was  found  wallowing 
inliis  blood.  They  seized  thecount, 
and  sent  for  a  surgeon. 

Tiie  captain  felt  that  he  had  but 
a  short  time  to  live.  He  entreated 
all  present  to  leave  him  for  a  mo- 
ment alone  with  his  adversary.  The 
request  of  a  dying  man  has  irresli- 
ble  |iower.  All  withdrew,  and  post- 
e;l  themselves  on  the  outside  of  the 
door,  to  j^revcnt  the  escape  of  the 
.  count.  Tlie  lailer  was  completely 
ji  himself  again.  The  sight  of  the 
captain's  Idood  had  cooled  his  rage 
and  appeased  Ids  animosity.  He 
fixed  his  lyes  with  deep  emotion 
and  j)ity  ujjon  his  wounded  anta- 
gonist, wlio,  with  a  faint  voice, 
begged  him  to  kneel  down  beside 
bun,  that  he  might  hear  his  expir- 
ing words. 

"I  am  dying,"  said  he — "believe 

the  assurance  of  one  who  is  on  the 

!  brink  of  the  grave.     Yoiir  wife  is 


154 


THE   FEMALE    TATTLER. 


innocent — and  so  am  I — I  forgive 
you — (pressing  his  band). — Hasten 
from  this  place — be  a  protector  to 
my  wife,  and  a  father  to  n»y  unborn 
infant. — Fly  (pointing  to  the  win- 
do>v  which  stood  open) — lose  no 
time — away  !  away  !" 

He  could  say  no  more.  The 
death-rattle  nearly  stifled  his  last 
words.  The  count  retained  scarce- 
ly so  much  presence  of  mind  as  to 
be  able  to  follow  the  advice  of  his 
dying  friend.  He  leaped  out  of 
the  window  into  the  yard,  and  slip- 
ping out  by  a  back  door,  threw 
himself  into  a  hackney  coach  and 
escaped.  Absorbed  in  profound 
stupor,  he  reached  the  frontiers. 
Tiicre  chance  decreed  that  Laura's 
note,  which  had  remained  forgotten 
in  his  pocket,  should  fall  into  his 
hands.  It  contained  the  confirma- 
tion of  the  innocence  of  his  wife. 


He  wrote  a  letter  to  EmiU,  which 
evidently  bespoke  the  derangement 
of  his  senses.  He  bade  adieu  to 
her  for  ever,  and  the  unfortunate 
man  has  not  been  heard  of  since. 
The  effect  of  the  catastrophe  upon 
Laura  was  a  premature  delivery, 
and  for  a  long  time  her  recovery 
was  despaired  of.  Emily  wept  day 
and  night  by  the  bed-side  of  her 
friend. 

That  is  the  lady  in  the  summer- 
house,  who,  lost  in  gloomy  reverie, 
is  tracing  letters  in  the  sand;  and 
her  pale  companion,  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, whose  tears  never  cease  to 
flow,  is  Laura. 

Thus  did  nine  trivial  and  appa- 
rently innocent  untruths  cost  an  ex- 
cellent man  his  life,  and  plunge  three 
estimable  persons  into  inexpressible 
misery. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  IX. 

What  greatness,  or  what  private  hidden  power, 

Is  there  in  me,  to  draw  submission 

From  this  rude  man  and  beast?  Sure  I  was  mortal, 

And  she  that  bore  nie  mortal  ;    prick  my  hand, 

And  it  will  bleed  ;   a  fever  shakes  me,  and 

1  he  self  same  wind  tliat  makes  the  young  lambs  shrink, 

Makes  me  a-cold  ;   my  fear  says  I  am  mortal: 

Yet  I  have  heard  (my  mother  told  it  me), 

And  now  1  do  believe  it,  if  I  keep 

My  viri(in  flower  u"fi(rf)|)t,  pure,  chaste,  and  fair, 

No  2;oblin,  wood-god,  fairy,  elf,  or  fiend. 

Satyr,  or  other  power  that  haunts  (he  groves, 

.Shall  hurt  my  body,  or  by  vain  illusion 

Draw  me  to  wander  after  idle  fires, 

Or  voices  calling  me  in  de;id  of  night. 

To  make  me  follow,  and  so  tole  nie  on. 

Through  mire  and  standing  pools,  to  find  my  ruin  ; 

F.lse  why  should  this  rough  thing,  who  never  knew 

^Manners  nor  smooth  humanity,  whose  heats 

Arc  rnugh.Pr  than  himself,  and  more  misshapen, 

Thus  mililly  kneel  to  me?   Sure  there's  a  power 

In  thHt  great  name  of  virgin,  that  binds  fast 

All  rude,  uncivil  bloods,  all  appetites 

That  break  their  confines  :    then,  strong  Chastity, 

Tie  thou  my  strongest  guard,  for  here  I'll  dwell, 

In  opposition  against  Fate  and  Hell. 

Fletcher's  Faithful  Shepherded). 

me  relative  to  the  origin  of  a  cer- 
tain mysterious  proverb,  very  fa- 
miliar to  every  one,  respecting  the 


It  may  be  in  the  recollection  of 
my  readers,  that,  in  a  former  num- 
ber, a  question  was  addressed  to 


THf.    FEMA1.I-;    TATTLER. 


1.0.5 


allotment  of  that  class  of  females 
clistin<^Mii.^liecl  by  tlie  title  of  Old 
Maids,  in  a  future  state  of  exist- 
ence; and  it  was  jjarticularly  re- 
cjuested  to  illustrate  the  employ- 
ment assigned  them  of  leading  ajies 
in  hell. 

I  did  not  feel  myself  disposed, 
from  the  delicacy  of  the  sul)jcct, 
to  engage  in  an  inquiry  so  ill  suit- 
ed to  female  disquisition  ;  and  if, 
in  a  vain  or  foolish  moment,  I  had 
indulged  an  idle  inclination  to  pur- 
sue it,  I  must  scion  have  been 
checked  hy  experiencing  a  total 
disqualilicaiion  for  the  task.  I 
therefore  waited  till  some  ingeni- 
ous correspondent,  skilled  in  that 
branch  of  antiquarian  knowledge 
which  nlatis  to  symbols,  figureS; 
fables,  and  proverbs,  should  con- 
descend to  fa\  our  me  w  ith  his  opi- 
nions on  the  subject. 

With  this  determination  I  luive 
good  reason  to  be  satisfied,  as  I 
have  at  length  received  a  letter  re- 
lative to  the  inquiry,  which,  though 
not  altogether  decisive,  is  replete 
with  ingenuity,  fancy,  and  infor- 
mation, and  throws  as  much  light 
upon  the  object  of  investigation 
as  it  appears  to  be  capable  of  re- 
ceiving. I  am  not  myself  one  of 
those  females,  who,  on  account  of 
their  virgin  state,  are  so  frequentlv, 
and,  I  sliall  add,  so  illiberally  and 
unjustly,  made  a  subject  of  jest  and 
contumel}  ;  for  I  have  been  the  wife 
of  two  husbands,  who  are  gone  to 
rest,  and  the  mother  of  five  chil- 
dren, three  of  whom.  Heaven  pro- 
tect them,  I  see  like  olive-branches 
round  my  table:  nevertheless,  I 
cannot  assume  it  as  a  rightful  pri- 
vilege to  consider,  much  less  to 
treat  witii  disrespect,  any  of  mj- 
se.Y  who  have  not  been  sul)jected 


to  the  laws  of  Hymen,  or  been  in  a 
state  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  a  mo- 
ther. Even  supposing,  which  how- 
ever is  by  no  means  to  be  taken  for 
granted,  that  the  condition  of  an 
old  maid  is  of  inferior  estimation, 
as  it  is  not  to  be  attributed  to  her-  • 
self,  but  to  those  cross  accidents  of 
life  which  it  is  not  in  her  power  to 
command  or  controul,  it  must  be 
the  height  of  injustice  to  regard  it 
either  with  ridicule  or  disdiiin  : 
nay,  on  the  contrary,  1  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  declare,  tliat  some  of  the 
most  amiable  and  excellent  women 
I  have  known,  have  been  in  that 
class  of  my  sex  who  have  borne 
their  virjiin  honours  to  the  grave. 
But  1  am  led  from  the  object  be- 
fore me,  and  therefore  shall  pro- 
ceed to  communicate  the  letter, 
which  will  form  thu  interesting 
part  of  this  paper. 

TO    THE    FLMALE    TATTLER. 

Madnniy 

It  has  been  an  amusement 
1  of  mine,  from  the  earl}'  part  of  my 
I  life,  to  collect,  examine,  and  ex- 
I  plain   the   various  proverbial  sjiy- 
I  ings  and  expressions  that  are  pe- 
1  culiar  to    different   countries  and 
i  languages,  ancient  and  modern,  as 
I  well  as  the  provincial  peculiarities 
!  that  are  found  to  prevail,  and  the 
idioms  that  are  in  habitual  use  in 
I  the  ditTerent  parts  of  the  country 
j  which  gave  me  birth.  I  have  a  large 
'  folio   full   of  my   collections,    and 
have  sometimes  felt  an  inclination 
I  to  send  it  to  the  press,  as  a  publi- 
i!  cation  that  n)ight  be  of  no  incon- 
siderable use  to  critics,  commenta- 
tors, and  the  curious  in  logographic 
inquiries.     Some  of  these  prover- 
bial   sayings,    however,    have    not 
yielded,   at  least  in   a  manner  al- 
together   satisfactory,    to    my    re- 


'jm 


THE    FRMALE    TATTLI'U. 


searches.  Among  them  is  that  which 
assigns  tiie  miserable  occupation  of 
leading  apes  (I  will  not  make  use 
of  the  horrid  word  generally  an- 
nexed to  it)  in  a  future  state  of  ex- 
istence. I  shall,  however,  give  you 
all  the  information  on  the  subject 
which  1  liave  been  able  to  attain 
from  others,  with  such  opinions  as 
my  own  curious  and  investigating 
mind  has  suggested  to  myself. 

One  of  my  ingenious  friends  is 
convinced,  that  this  predestinating 
proverb  was  invented  and  propa- 
gated by  the  monks,  to  allure  opu- 
lent maiden  females  into  the  clois- 
ter, by  persuading  them,  that  as  they 
were  likely  to  become  the  wives  of 
men,they  might  become  the  spouses 
of  God,  and,  by  such  an  union  on 
earth,  be  protected  from  the  sen- 
tence, which  otherwise  condemns 
them  to  the  most  rude,  disgusting, 
and  improvident  companion  that 
can  well  be  conceived  in  a  future 
world.  This  notion  is  too  whim- 
sical, as  well  as  trap  recherche,  to 
meet  with  my  fastidious  humour: 
for  my  part,  I  am  rather  inclined 
to  rank  an  idea  so  injurious  to  the 
virgin  character,  among  the  dismal 
and  irrational  superstitions  of  the 
Egyptians,  as  I  find  a  passage  in 
Hermes  Trismegistus,  which  states, 
that  those  women  who  die  childless 
are,  immediately  after  their  death, 
tormented  by  demons.  I  must  con- 
fess, however,  that  from  the  very 
high  respect  which  the  Egyptians 
entertained  for  the  ape,  the  demons 
mentioned  by  Trismegistus  could 
hardly  be  of  that  fissure.  Indeed, 
the  afl'ectionate  adoration  which 
apes  have  sometimes  received,  as 
we  learn  from  the  jjious  poet  Pru- 
dentins  ( Teuerem  precaris,  compre- 
care  ct  sijiiiam),  has,  at  times,  led 


me  to  conjecture,  that  the  saying 
in  question  n)ight  have  arisen  in 
some  country  wiiere  it  bore  a  very 
different  meainng  from  what  we 
annex  to  it  at  present,  and  where 
this  destiny  of  the  ancient  virgin 
was  intended  not  as  a  punishment, 
but  as  the  reward  of  her  conti- 
nence. 

I  do  not  recollect  to  have  seen 
the  expression  of  leading  apes  in 
hell,  in  any  English  author  before 
Shirley  the  dramatic  poet,  remark- 
able for  the  number  of  plays  which 
he  wrote,  and  dying,  with  his  wife, 
of  the  fright  occasioned  by  the  fire 
of  1660.  In  his  comedy  called  The 
School  of  Compliment,  printed  in 
1(537,  there  is  a  scene,  in  which,  to 
humour  the  madness  of  Infortunio, 
a  leading  personage  in  the  piece, 
the  several  characters  on  the  stage 
pretend  to  be  damned.  Delia, 
among  the  rest,  declares,  that  she 
was  brought  into  her  wretched  and 
lamentable  situation  as  the  fatal 
consequence  of  her  being  a  stale 
virgin,  or,  in  the  more  intelligible 
phrase,  an  old  maid,  and  that  the 
horrid  punishment  assigned  ■  her 
was  to  lead  apes  in  hell.  in-^^in:  . 

But  to  bring  the  matter  to  some- 
thing like  a  conclusive  opinion,  I 
shall  beg  leave  to  state  how  I  have 
reconciled  this  expression  to  my 
understanding  ;  or  rather,  w  hat  was 
the  meaninsr  intended  to  be  an- 
nexed  by  the  judicial  ingenuity  of 
the  wit  who  first  employed  it. 

It  would  be  tiie  height  of  injus- 
tice to  consider  any  circumstance, 
unattended  with  moral  turpitude 
or  criminal  intention,  as  tleserving 
of  punishment ;  and  it  is  altogether 
improbable,  if  not  absolutely  un- 
natural, that  any  female  siiould  vo- 
luntarily and  by  preference  select 


TIIL    FEMALE    TATTLKU. 


J  57 


the  fiiaiilen  state  as  the  contlition 
of  her  lite,  merely  as  such  ;  nor  is, 
1  presume,  uu  example  to  he  found 
of  a  woman  who  could  marry  with 
n  rational  prospect  of  happiness, 
and,  under  such  circumsiunces, 
turned  her  hack  upon  the  alt;ir. 

Instances  must  have  occurred  to 
every  one,  who  has  advanced  on  the 
journey  of  life,  where  fiMnide  reso- 
lution has  been  seen  to  resist  the 
invitations  of  Hymen,  from  motives 
ihat  (hscretion  has  awakened  and 
reason  may  approve.  While,  on 
the  other  hund,  it  must  have  heen 
visihh-*,  liow  much  misery  is  pro- 
duced by  matrimonial  connections 
Imiried  on  hy  passion,  or  formed 
hy  interest,  in  wliich  neither  the 
understanding  nor  the  lieart  hus 
heen  duly  consulted  ;  and,  of  course, 
the  hapj)incss  that  ought  to  result 
from  the  most  imj)ortant  connec- 
tion of  life  is  left  to  accidental 
circumstances,  in  which  the  risk 
is  by  no  means  in  favour  of  a  suc- 
cessful issue. 

I  will  suppose,  hy  wa}-  of  illus- 
trating my  notion  on  the  subject, 
thetwo  following  situations;  though 
I  need  not  slate  them  on  supposi- 
tion, as  they  were  familiar  to  my 
own  observation,  and  the  respective 
parties    perfectly    well   known    to 
myself.  The  one  was  a  young  lady 
of  very   respectable  connections; 
but,  in  consequence  of  being  one 
of  a  numerous  family,  her  princi-  | 
pal  fortune  was  the  beauty  she  had  | 
received  from  nature,  and  tlie  ac-  { 
coni|;lishments  which  had  been  af- 
forded   by    a    superior   education.  } 
At  the  age  of  twenty  she  had  won   j 
the  regards  of  a  young  gentlctnan 
of  handsome  fortune;  and  she  did  i! 

not  hesitate  to  make  every  return  'i 

1 1 
of  regard  and   affection  which  he 

Vol.  II.  No.  L\. 


required  of  her.  But  as  his  father, 
who  consulted  tlie  fortunes  rather 
than  the  hajipiness  of  his  son,  ob- 
jected to  the  consummation  of  his 
wishes,  they  could  not  be  gratified 
till  the  old  gentleman,  who  had 
lot)g  been  in  a  very  declining  state 
of  health,  was  removed  by  death 
from  forming  any  further  obstacles 
to  the  pleasing  prospect  of  connu- 
bial happiness.  But  in  tins  disap- 
pointing world,  little  dependance 
can  be  had  on  any  thir)g  vvhich  is 
nut  actually  in  our  possession. 
Every  thing  was  settled  for  this 
promising  union  ;  and  even  the  day 
was  named  when  the  ceremonial  of 
the  altar  was  to  repay  the  happy 
pair  for  all  their  I'etirs,  doubts,  and 
anxieties,  which  they  iia<l  sufft-red. 
But  the  hatid  of  fate  interpos(  d  ; 
the  young  man  was  suddenly  seiz- 
ed v\  ith  an  illness  which  baffled  all 
the  efforts  of  medical  skill :  in  short, 
he  died,  but  gave  the  only  proof  of 
regard  now  in  his  power  to  the  des- 
tined bride,  by  securing  to  her  a 
very  liberal  independence.  She 
lamented  her  loss  with  unbounded 
grief,  and  formed  a  resolution  to 
wed  herself  to  the  grave  of  her 
lover,  and  devote  herself  to  virgin 
solitude  for  his  sake.  Her  fortune 
was  sufficient  to  give  her  all  the 
comforts  of  life  ;  and,  in  that  point 
of  view,  she  was  impelled  by  no 
inducement  to  swerve  from  the  re- 
solution she  had  decidedly  formed. 
Five  years  passed,  and  more  than 
one  proposal  had  been  rejected: 
at  length,  however,  tlie  hour  of 
temptation  arrived  which  did  'lot 
meet  with  the  wish  to  resist  it.  A 
baronet,  who  was  no  longer  a  young 
man,  appeared  as  a  suitor;  atid  as 
he  brought  a  title,  and  all  its  fasci- 
nating accompaniments  along  with 
Y 


1.38 


IKE    FEMALIi    TATTLER. 


it,  she  forgot  the  toa)o  over  whicli  :  without    having    tluiy   considered 


the  character,  temper,  and  habits 
of  th.e  man  whose  names  they  as- 
sumed.    Her  own  sister  had   hap- 


she  liad  wept,  and  took  possession 
of  a  splendid  aUotnient,  in  which 
slie  soon  forgot  to  smile.  Harass- 
ed hy  the  peevislmess  of  a  sick  J!  pened  to  dance  with  a  gentleman 
husband,  suspected  hy  Ills  jealons}',  !!  at  a  public  assembly,  who  was  so 
and  misruled  by  his  tyranny,  she  ;'  struck  with  her  charms,  that  the 
sou;_2^^ht  for  what  she  could  attain  of  j  very  next  day  he  was  a  suitor  for 
her  former  coud'ort  by  a  deed  of  j;  her  hand.  He  happened  to  have 
separation  ;  and  did  not  become  a  j  a  good  fortune,  with  a  handsome 
widow  till,  if  she  had  even  been  !  person,  and  did  not  sue  in  vain, 
bold  enough,  it  was  too  kite  once  !  In  less  than  a  month  he  leil  her  to 
nu)re  to  becon^e  a  wife.  I  tlic  altar  ;  and  in  the  course  of  an- 

The  contrast  to  this  ch.aractcr  j  other  month  she  awoke  from  her 
will  demand  an  e(\ual  space  to  de-  u  fancied  dream  of  iia])piness,  with 
scribe  it.  i  the  melancholy  conviction  that  she 

Marianj)e   had  considerable  at-  i  should  be  a  wretch  for  life.     My 
tractions,  and  possessed  a  superior  j;  heroisie,  therefore,   determined  to 
understanding,  polished  by  educa-  !  weigh  the  ujerits  of  any  lovers  she 
tion,  and,  which  is  still  better,  had  l|  might  have  in  the  scale  of  her  own 
been    subsequent!}^    improved    by 'judgment,  to  examine  well  the  pre- 
licrsclf.      Fash.ional)le    education,  .1  ferences  of  her  heart,  and  not  to 
unfortunately,  gains  more  and  more  I;  let  the  irretrievable  die  be  cast  till 
the  ascendancy  over  good  educa-  h  her  reason  was  convinced,  that  the 
tion  ;  as  for  one  young  woujan  who  jj  chances    in    favour    of    happiness 
is  brought  up  to  fulhl  the  real  du-  jj  were  of  a  decisive  character.     She 
ties    of   tlie   marriage    state,    as   a  |!  had  several  opportunities  of  fulfil- 
housewite   or    a    mother,    a    much  \\  ing  her  resolution,  and   she  coin- 
greater   proportion   v\iil    be  fouuil   ;  jjletely  fulfilled  it:  i)ut  th.e  result 
who  learn  litile  more  than  to  tickle  |i  was,   that  slie  urew   into   an   Old 
the  keys  of  a  pdano-forte,  to  thrum  !   Maid.     As    she    never    became    a 
the  strings  of  a  harp,  to  sing,  to  j|  wife,  she  consequently  never  be- 
(lance,    to   babble   a    foreign    Ian- ji  came  a  mother;  but  the  maternal 
guage,  with  at  most  a  little  needle-  i  duties  she  exercised  fur  many  years 
work  and  embroidery  ;  in  short,  to  1,  with  exemplary  care  and  alTection. 
make  themselves  dolls  for  a  baby-  |  Her  sister,  whose  days  were  sup- 


man  to  'play  witiia!.  Marianne, 
liov\ever,  had  all  tlie  former,  and 
all  that  was  essential  to  the  latter; 
but  she  had  fcjrmed  certain  notions 
of  matrimonial  happinCss  v.hich 
were  not  conhned  to  the  mere 
liavingofa  husl>and.  She-  had()h- 
scrved  among  her  feniale  acquiiint- 
ance  iiow  lew  oi  thent  had  improv- 
ed their  condition  by  Qoiu"  to  the 
altar   and    changing   tlieir    nanus, 


posed  to  have  been  shortened  by 
the  base  treatment  of  a  profligate 
husband,  rtcp^ested,  on  her  dying 
pillow,  th.at  her  tluee  female  chil- 
dren, who  were  then  young,  might 
be  consigned  to  the  care  of  tlieir 
uu\iiU;n  aunt.  ^''Iiis  hist  entreaty 
was  complied  u  iih,  and  iheir  maid- 
en aunt  euiploved  ail  the  years 
which  they  re(|uircd  to  make  them 
ihe   oruamenis  of    their    sex    and 


THE    IKMALE    TATTLCR. 


159 


thcirnaturc.  When  slit- introduced  i    perform  tliat  ofHce  tipon  the  pro 


them  into  the  world,  at  the  age 
when  it  is  proper  that  they  should 
appci.r  there,  they  were  the  adnii 


posed  conditions. 

Tlie  ladies,  however,  had  one  vir- 
tue; they  uiaintained  their  re>p(c- 


r;uiou    of    all    who    beheld    them.  I  tive  resolutions,  consequently  he- 
Such  a  woman  as  this,  Old  Maid  j  came  Ol.n   IVLmos  tor  their  lolly, 
as  she  was,  ought  not  surely  to  he  i  and  deserve  to  Uad  apes  in  liell. 
sentenced  to  feadapesin  licll.  \       But  why,  it  may  be  said,  of  all 

What  then  are  the  characters —  j  the  beasts  of  the  forest,  arc  apei  se- 
for  proverbs,  fitiurative  as  they  may  ;  lected  as  the  associates  of  tMs  pu- 
be,aregenerally  founded  i!i  justice,  ij  "islmient?  1  have  only  lo  c(jnjec- 
and  are  the  olVspring  of  experi-  j  tm'e,  that  for  tiie  whimsical  \\., uk- 
euce— what  then,  I  say,  are  the  !  uess,  to  say  no  more  of  such  ancient 
characters  to  whose  ancient  vir<iin-  i  misses  as  1  have  described,  in  rc- 
ity  punislnnent  might  be  justly  ap-  \  fusing  rational  marriage  with  a-an. 


plied  r   I  will  endeavour  to  tell  you. 
Sophia  had  i'ormed  a  resolution 


they  are   proverbially  condemned 
to  tlie  society  of  that  animal   who 


never  to  niarry,  unless  the  ardent  ;  l)ears  the  most  disgusting  resem- 
proposition  of  love  was  accompa-  \  bianco  ol  him. 


nied  with  a  title;  and  a  title  never 
presented  itself. 


But  to  console  the  amiable,  sen- 
sible, and  which  may  be  consiu.  red 


Lconovn  was  convinced,  that  she  i  as  the  uniortunate  class  of  the 
should  be  disgraced  il'  her  bride-  (  maiden  sisterhood,  1  shall  concUide 
groom  did  not  take  her  to  church  :  vvith  the  sentiments  of  a  distin- 
in  his  coach  and  four;  and  no  one  guished  poet,  who  seems  to  have 
appeared  to  make  her  that  oiler  but  been  inlluenced  by  what  he  felt, 
in  a  carriage  aiul  pair.  |,  as  a    humane  wish  to  make  some 

Henrietta  had  formed  the  deter-  '■  amends  lor  the  insult  of  this  inju- 
mined  whimsey  to  make  it  an  es-  11 1'ious  proverb,  by  assigning  a  place 
sential  in  the  gentleman  whom  she  'j  to  old  maids  of  the  better  descrtp- 
vvojild  I'avour  with  her  hand,  that  j  lion  in  his  poetical  elysium. 
lie  should  be  in  a  rank  of  life  to 
render  it  necessary  for  her  to  be  ;  "Tun.  to  this  clur,fui  hand,  and  mark  in  ibs 

,  '     ,  ,  Suit  its  \«\.<)  iiistly  t'laiin  niv  rralins  iif  bl«»t> ! 

presented  at  court ;  but  t.ie  cour-     .T   , ,      ,    ,.      .     i       •' i     ■  i 

I  '  Most  lovi  ly  (l<t'>t  I    wlieii  jiiil-i-il   l»y  t;<iu-rom 

tiers    proceeded    no    further    tlian  '  (nuii, 

compliments    and    COU<rcCS^    and,    in      Thoupli  bcmly   is  not  tluiis,  imr  bioomiii? 

their  addresses  to  her,  not  an  hy-   i  >«utli; 

,  .  I     I  II  Tor  I  litsc  are  liicv.whi),  ill  life's  ll.orny  !.!i:iili', 

mcneal  expression  escaped  them,     ii  „,,,„,.,„„  ,,„,., ,..;,  „,..,,  „f  ,„..u„t  n,a;.i 

Litfere/la,    my     fourth    and     last,  !|  yo  pn.ud  <risilain,  no  narrownes';  ofhiair, 
who  piqued    herself  upon   her  epis-  |!  (leld  tlien*  from  llj  nun's  Kmptni«;rU.-s  apart, 

t.dary  writing,  and  had  more  cor-  :  Uui  fair  L'.sc..cu..«  loi , hem  ,»  w,ii.cr..w 

■^  1      1       il  From  tlic  |Miz«il  lif>:i<iiir  o|  Ins  profit  r  «l  law; 

respondents  than  any  young  lady  f  to  quit  (Ik- object  of  no  hasty  d.o,.., 
of  her  age,  or  perhaps  any  age,  in  '  in  miui  submishion  lo  a  paienTs  voice, 
the  kingdom,  determined  never  to  \'  The^ahid  ioifiwitii  u  s.gh  resie.., 

.„„„  I  1  I  ..    r        1    il  And  saciitice  (Iili^hl  at  Duty's  slirine. 

marry  a  man  who  could  not  frank  .       ,       ,         r  '  , 

,  ,  I  With  smiUs    tli^y   boic,    from    an^ry    spleen 

lier  letters;  and  neither  peer  nor '|  ivrmni, 

member  of  parliament  appeared  to    I  Impcrions  moclccryand  coarse  contcmiitj  . 

Y  -2 


16a 


DESCRIPTION'   OF   THE    VALLEY    OF    CUAMOUM. 


'Twas  tliciis  to  clasp,  each  selfish  care  above, 

A  sister's  orphnns  witli  pureiual  love, 

And  n.ll  lier  tender  odices  supply, 

Though  huuiid  not  liy  the  atrong  nialcrnal  tie; 

'Twas  theirs  to  hid  intestine  quarrels  cease, 

And  form  the  ceuienl  of  domestic  peace  : 


No  throhhing  joy  their  spotless  bosom  fii'd. 

Save  «  liat  Benevolence  herself  inspired  ; 

No   praise  they  sought,    except    that    praise 

refiii'd, 
Which  the  heart  whispers  to  the  worthy  mind. 

A  CURIOUS  Inquireu. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  THE 

The  valley  of  Chamoiini  is  situ- 
ated in  the  province  of  Faussigny, 
which  belongs  to  Savoy,  and  while 
that  country  was  incorporated  with 
the  French  empire,  fornied  a  por- 
tion of  the  department  of  Lentian. 
On  the  south  it  is  separated  from 
Italy  by  the  lofty  range  of  Mont 
Blanc;  iMont  Breven  and  the  Ai- 
guilles Rouges  form  its  north  side; 
on  the  east,  towards  the  Valais,  it 
is  bounded  by  the  Col  de  Balme, 
and  on  the  west  by  Mont  Lacha. 
From  north-east  to  south-west  it  is 
from  15  to  20  miles  in  length,  and 
not  more  than  one  in  breadth. 

The  Arve  rises  at  the  foot  of  the 
Col  de  Balme,  and  in  its  course 
collects  the  streams  that  issue 
from  various  glaciers  around  Mont 
Blanc;  it  traverses  the  whole  val- 
ley longitudinally,  and  quitting  it 
at  the  foot  of  Mont  Lacha,  dis- 
charges its  turbid  current  into  the 
Rhone,  not  far  from  Geneva. 

There  is  no  access  to  this  valley 
except  by  the  two  ends.  The  road 
which  leads  from  Genevato  its  lower 
part,  being  the  better  of  the  two,  is 
most  frequented.  Beyond  Salenche, 
where  carriages  are  left,  it  is,  how- 
ever, passable  only  for  small  light 
vehicles,  called  cliars  a  banc,  which 
are  taken  to  pieces  by  the  drivers 
at  bad  parts  of  the  road,  and  after- 
wards put  together  again.  When 
the  traveller  lias  passed  the  plain 
of  Salenche,  the  road  rises  at  the 
village  of  Chede,  and  again    de- 


VALLEY  OF  CHAMOUNI. 

I  scends  near  the  forges  of  Servos^ 
I  towards  the  Arve,  which  is  crossed 
!  by  the  bridge  of  Pelissier:  on  the 
I  other  side  the  road  again  rises  above 
!  the  river,  and  still  more  at  the  foot 
1  of  Mont  Lacha.  This  last  portion 
of  it  is  uncommonly  wild.  Be- 
tween overlianging  rocks  and  be- 
neath lofty  pines,  the  whitish  waters 
of  the  Arve  dash  foaming  into  a 
deep  chasm.  Mont  Blanc,  whose 
summit  is  at  first  visible  on  the  left, 
now  presents  its  whole  form,  so 
that  you  see  it  at  a  little  distance 
before  3'ou.  The  glaciers  of  La 
Griaand  Taconnay,  which  appear 
suspended  between  prodigious 
ridges  of  rocks  over  the  head  of  the 
traveller,  seem  to  threaten  the  vil- 
lages built  at  their  foot  with  inevi- 
table destruction.  Here  the  valley 
of  Chamouni  is  first  discovered  on 
the  left.  Its  cheerful  aspect  forms 
an  extraordinary  contrast  to  the 
wild  country  which  you  have  just 
traversed.  The  whole  valley  gra- 
dually opens;  the  Arve  inclines 
sometimes  to  one  side,  sometimes 
to  the  other;  it  is  diversified  with 
fine  arable  land,  charming  pastures 
and  meadows,  and  villages  planted 
with  shady  trees.  The  magnificent 
glacier  of  Bosson,  and  farther  on 
the  ice-field  of  Bois,  descend  com- 
pletely into  the  valley  ;  their  azure 
spires  overtop  the  summits  of  the 
pines  by  which  the}'  are  accompa- 
nied to  the  limits  of  vegetation, 
where  nothins:   but  naked   block* 


DESCRIPTION   OF   THE   VALLEY    OF   CIIAMOUNI. 


101 


of  granite  vary  the  surface  of  the 
soil. 

F'roni  the  upper  extremity  of  the 
valley  two   roads   lead    Irom  Cha- 
mouni  into  the  Valais,  but  both  are 
imp;issable   even    for   the   lightest 
carriage.     They  commence  at  the 
village  of  Argentiere,  two  leagues 
from  the  Prieure;  the  one  runs  to 
the   left,    througli    Vah'ihne,  over 
the  Tete  Noire;  the  other,  which 
is    the    longer    of    the    two,    leads 
through  tlie  vilUige  of  7\)ur,  tlou n 
a  steep   declivity,    to  the    Col   de 
Balme.     A  little  eminence  by  tlie 
roa<l-side,  1181  fathoms  above  the 
surface  of  the  M.a,  presents  one  of 
the  most   delightful   distant  views 
of  the  Alps.     Towards  the  Valais, 
you  see  its  extensive  plain,  and  the 
lon^^  chain  of  inaccessible  glaciers 
and   rocks  by  which  it  is  bounded, 
and  which  terminates  at  Mount  Fur-  j 
ka,  at  the  distance  of  30  leagues.  I 
On  tlie  other  side  the  eye  rests  upon  ; 
the  gigantic  figure  of  Mont  Blanc  :  i 
the  less  elevated  peaks  vvb.ich  sur-  ' 
round  It,  seem  designed  merely  to  ; 
make  it  appear  more  lofty  by  com-  i 
parison  ;  as  the  immeasurable  fields  I 
of  ice  that  encircle  it,  and  extend 
in   long   branches  into  the  valley, 
appear    destined    to    complete   its 
magnificent  outline.     At  its  feet  is 
spread  the  valley  of  Ciiamouni,  in 
which     you    discern     Argentiere, 
Tmnes,  several   others    of  its  vil- 
lages, and  the  Prieurt'. 

Both  roads  lead  to  the  village  of 
Trient,  where  the  traveller  crosses 
the  Forclas,  77S  fathoms  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  and  descends  to 
Martinach.  Persons  going  from 
Franceby  theroad  of  tlie  Simplon  to 
Italy,  are  not  unfrequently  induc- 
ed to  make  an  excursion  from  this 
place,  which  is  only  nine  leagues 


from  Ciiamouni,  over  the  Forclas 
and  the  Col  de  Balme,  to  the  gla- 
ciers. 

In  the  middle  of  the  valley  is  its 
capital,  Ciiamouni,  or  the  Prieure  : 
from  this  village  the  more  distant 
excursions  are  undertaken.  Tra- 
vellers here  find  clean  inns  and 
good  attendance,  rarely  met  with, 
except  in  towns,  and  not  expected 
in  so  sequestered  a  spot. 

The  medium  tenip^.ratureof  the 
valley  of  Ciiamouni,  which  is  52^ 
fathoms  above  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  and  at  the  foot  of  mountains 
covered  with  evcrlastiiio-  snow,  is 
cold  and  unfavourable  to  agricul- 
ture; no  wheat  is  sown  there,  tiie 
only  kinds  of  corn  being  barley 
and  oats:  potatoes  yield  an  aljiin- 
dant  produce;  flax  thrives  reniark- 
alily  well ;  and  the  honey  is  deli- 
cately white  and  of  an  arontatic 
flavour.  A  peculiar  advantage  pos- 
sessed by  the  soil  of  this  valley, 
consists  in  the  facility  with  which, 
after  it  has  been  several  years  under 
corn,  it  is  converted  into  natural 
meadows,  probably  owing  to  the 
fertilizing  humidity  which  is  kept 
up  by  the  vicinity  of  the  mountains. 

Few  kinds  of  fruit-trees  thrive  in 
the  valley  of  Ciiamouni.  The  sum- 
mer is  too  short,  and  the  night 
frosts  too  common,  to  allow  the 
young  stocks  to  acquire  sufficient 
strength  to  resist  the  severe  cold 
of  winter.  The  shortness  of  the 
summer  has  occasioned  a  remarka- 
ble practice  for  hastening  the  melt- 
ing of  the  snow,  when  its  great 
accumulation  would  otherwise  de- 
lay the  labours  of  the  field:  upon 
the  snow  whicii  covers  the  field  in- 
tended to  be  sown,  the  inhabitants 
strew  black  mould,  which,  by  ab- 
sorbing the  sun's  rays  in  greater 


162 


DESCRIPTION    OF    THE    ISLAND    Of    SAKK. 


qirintitv,  promotes  ilie  meking  of 
liie   snow,  aiiu    lims    forwards    the 
operaiioiis  of    uc^riculture    a  fort 
night  or  three  weeks. 

Cattle  constitute  the  chief  wealth 
of  the  people  of  Chamouni:  thus 
the  properly  of  each  is  calculated 
hv  (he  nunii)er  of  cows  he  can  keep 
ill  winter.  In  sunnner  th.e  horned 
cattle  feed  in  the  numerous  com- 
mon pastures,  wliose  vegetation  is 
shehered  hy  the  mountains  that  in- 
close thevati.y:  hut  for  their  sup- 
port during  tlie  long  and  severe 
winter,  a  considerahle  stock  of  hay, 
an  I  consequently  a  jjroportionate 
extciu  of  meadow,  is  required.  The 
few  mules  that  are  met  with  in 
the  valley,  are  kept  for  the  service 
of  travellers  and  for  tlie  convey- 
ance of  gooLis.  For  some  years 
past  sheep  iiave  lieen  hred  here, 
and  tliey  thrive  verv  well. 

Tiie  iirst  visit  of  public  notoriety 
to  tliis  remarkahle  valley  took  place 
in  1711,  Th.e  celeln-ated  traveller 
Pococke,  after  his  return  from  the 
East,  and  another  Englishman, 
named  ^Vindham,  discovered  this 
till  then  unknown  region.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  valley  of  Cha- 
mouni had  previously  been  consi- 
dered in  tlie  light  of  savages,  and 
'Mont  Blanc,  with  the  surroundincr 
peaks,  were  denominated — the  ac- 
cursed nujuntains. 

About  1700  it  iiegan  to  be  more 
conmionly  visited,  and  the  inter- 
esting account  of  M.  de  Saussure 
rendered  it  generally  known,  so 
that  now  it  is  perhaps  one  of  the 
most  frequented  tracts  in  Europe. 


The  inliabitants  of  Chamouni 
were  distinguished  by  purity  and 
simj)licity  of  manners,  but  the  in- 
creased intercourse  with  strangers 
has  produced  a  cliange  tor  tlie 
worse.  The  money  introduced  by 
these  means  lias  taught  them  the 
value  of  that  commodity,  and  ex- 
cited a  desire  to  obtain  it:  but  still 
the  people  of  the  valley  are  honest, 
kind,  and  courteous  to  travellers, 
from  whom  they  derive  much  use- 
ful knowledge.  7'h.eir  conversa- 
tion is  in  general  agreeal)le,  and 
many  of  tliem  possess  a  very  mi- 
nute acqaintance  with  t!ie  natural 
relations  of  their  country. 

Though  not  of  large  stature,  these 
people  are  well  made  and  robust: 
they  are  seen  with  light  and  sure 
step  ascending  and  descending,  un- 
der considerable  burdens,  steep 
paths,  where  aforeiirner  could  not 
follow  without  trembling.  Tlie  wo- 
men too  are  strongly  built:  it  is 
they  who  perform  most  of  the  la- 
bours of  the  field,  wiiile  the  men 
are  engaged  in  tending  the  flocks 
on  the  neighbouring  mountains, 
or  in  accompanying  travellers  as 
guides.  Tiiese,  however,  are  not 
the  only  employments  of  the  men  : 
some  of  them  go  in  summer  to  the 
country  of  Tarantaise  and  the  val- 
ley of  Aosta,  to  makecheese;  others 
wander  to  still  more  distant  parts; 
and  those  who  remain  at  home, 
ascend  the  lofty  mountains  and  the 
upper  parts  of  the  glaciers,  to  col- 
lect crystals,  rare  stones,  plants, 
or  insects. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  ISLAND  OF  SARK. 

TliK  small  island  of  Sark,  siiuat-  11  gem  by  which  the  English  recover- 
ed between  Guernsey  and  Jersey,  ji  ed  possession  of  it  from  France, 
is  but  little  known ;  and  the  strata-  ||  perhaps  still  less  so. 


Dr.scKir  rioN  or  nii':  island  or  sahk. 


16:^ 


The  islaiul  ot"  Sark  is  siiunlcil  I,  {luctii  yiekletl  to  liis  im|)ortnni!y  ; 
about  four  leagues  to  the  somli-cast  I  and  he  j)ut  to  sta  v\iili  a  liuiulred 
of  Gucnisev,   in  the  centre  of  that     resoUitc  men,  and  after  cruizin;^  u- 


elusier  of  islands  which  lie  o|)po- 
site  to  the  coast  of  I'ranee.  As 
these  ishinds  formed  i)ait  of  the 
diiciiy  of  Normandy  at  the  licne  of 
the  Conqueror's  invasion,  they  be- 
came of  course  tlepcndtncies  on 
the  Knglish  (  ri>\\  n  ;  to  which,  with 
little  interrupiijn,  llicy  have  ever 
since  beh)nj.i;ed.      In  the  year  1549 


vvlule  u|)  and  down,  eanu;  antl  hav 
before  this  island,  in  the  character 
ol  a  homeward-bound  nurchant- 
uian,  and  sending  in  his  boat  with 
several  taking  cominoilities,  three 
or  four  of  his  men  were  suffered  to 
land.  With  these  the  |)eople  trad- 
ed for  a  day  or  two  with  much 
amity;  and  then  they  told  the  is- 


th(.'  Krench  |)ossesseil  themselves  of  1  landers,  that  having  been  a  long 
the  iNhuul  of  Sark;  wh.ere  they  built  |j  trading  voyage  to  the  Straits,  tluir 
forts,  and  kept  it  for  some  years.  |;  master,  who  died  latelv,  had  en- 
It  was,  however,  recovered  by  an  j  gaged  them  not  to  tlirow  his  corpse 
English  captain,  by  means  of  a  ij  overboard,  but  inter  it  with  Chris- 
stratagem  not  less  singular  and  sue-   ,  lian  burial  in  the  very  place  where 


eessful,  than  that  of  llie  celebrated 
'I'rojan  h.orse. 

In  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 


they  should  first  Knicli  ground  : 
therefore  they  desirt^d  i!ie  Chris- 
tian favour  of  them,  that  they  might 


the  islatul  of  Sark  being  wholly  ji  lay  him  in  their  church-vard,  and 
possessed  by  the  trench,  of  which  j  that  a  few  of  thein  might  be  pcr- 
iiation  are  most  of  the  inhabitants  ij  mitted  to  come  on  shore,  w.ithotit 
to  tliis  day,  a  sea  captain,  apjjre- jiany  arms,  to  perform  the  ceren'ony. 
bending  that  its  neighbourhood,  ii  j  The  credulous  ])eople  consented; 
it  continued  in  French  hands,  might  j  our  captain  and  about  twenty  of  his 
one  time  or  other  be  of  jll  coiise-  i  stoutest  men,  with  a  eoliin,  and 
tiuence  to  Jersey  and  Guernsey,  li  much  seeming  solemnity,  went  on 
.the  only  remaining  trophies  of  our  li  shore,  the  natives  assisting  them  to 


Erench  coiup.iests  and  possessions, 
solicited  of  tlie  cjueen  a  commission 
to  reduce  it  to  her  obedience.  Her 
IVIajesty  toUl  him,  that  the  ])lace 
was  so  small,  and  the  attempt  so 
hazardous,  that  she  feared  the  loss 
of   men   would    be   more    damage, 


get  their  coffin  up  the  precipice; 
l)ut  no  sooner  were  they  arrived  at 
the  church,  than  cla|)j)ing  to  tiu* 
door,  as  if  they  had  some  private 
devotions  to  celebrate,  at  which 
the  inhabitants  might  not  be  pre- 
sent, they  opened  the  coffin,  tilled. 


than  its  taking  would  be  of  advan-  li  instead  of  a  corjjse,  with  instruments 
tage:  for  you  must  note,  that  the!  of  death;  and  arming  themselves 
passage  down  to  La  Soguion  was  in  an  instant, killed  thesmall  French 
not  made,  nor  did  it  appear  half  so  I  guard  that  oll'cred  to  resist,  fetch- 
accessible  as  it  does  now.  But  our  I  ing  more  of  their  company  from 
captain  replied,  "th.at  if  her  Ma-  the  landing-place,  and  in  five  hours 
jesty  would  give  him  command  and  time,  without  the  loss  of  one  man, 
necessaries,  he  durst  assure  her  he  mailc  themselves  mnsttrs  of  ilie 
would  set  Eniilish  colours  there,  whole  island,  which  has  ever  since 
witaout   the  loss  of  a  man."     The  i  boasted  the  honour  ot  being  part; 


164 


DESCRIPTION   OF   THE   ISLAND   OF  SARK, 


of  the  dominions  of  the  English 
crown. 

Ti\is  island  is  not  above  five 
miles  in  length,  and  three  where 
broadest,  the  number  of  inhabit- 
ants scarcely  exceeding  four  hun- 
dred peoj)l8;  it  consequently  can 
be  no  temptation  to  the  ambition 
of  any  prince:  yet  nature,  as  if  she 
bad  stored  up  some  extraordinary 
treasure  there,  seems  to  have  been 
very  solicitous  to  render  it  impreg- 
nable by  the  vast  rocks  and  mighty 
cliffs  all  around  it,  whose  craggy 
tops,  braving  the  clouds,  bid  defi- 
ance to  all  that  dream  of  forcing  an 
entrance.  There  are  only  two  pas- 
sages or  ascents  to  it.  The  first, 
where  all  goods  or  commodities  are 
received,  is  called  La  Soguion. 
This  curious  passage  was  cut  by 
order  of  Philip  de  Carteret,  Lord 
of  St.  Ouen,  in  Jersey,  to  whom 
Queen  Elizabeth  granted  it  soon 
after  its  recovery  from  the  French, 
to  be  held  by  him  and  his  heirs  of 
the  crown,  under  a  sriiall  acknow- 
ledgment. Here,  for  a  consider- 
able space,  through  a  solid  rock,  a 
cart-way  is  cut  down  to  the  sea, 
with  two  strong  gates  for  its  de- 
fence, wherein  most  of  the  stores 
are  kept  for  navigation,  and  two 
pieces  of  ordnance  are  always 
planted  above  to  prevent  surprise. 
The  other  passage  is  called  La 
Fricherc'e,  where  only  passengers 
can  land,  who  are  obliged  to  climb 
up  one  at  a  time  by  certain  steps 
cut  in  the  ascent  to  a  vast  height, 
and  not  without  some  danger. — 
The  air  is  serene :  there  is  not  a 
physician  on  the  island,   yet  the 


people  in  general  live  to  a  good 
old  age.  Their  water  is  good.  The 
soil  is  in  geiieral  sandy,  yet  fruitful 
in  producing  every  necessary  for 
the  inhabitants,  particularly  roots. 
They  are  well  stored  with  apples, 
of  which  they  make  excellent  cy- 
der. Corn  they  have  of  most  kinds, 
but  not  in  any  great  quantity ; 
their  pasture  is  short,  but  sweet ; 
their  mutton  excellent,  but  their 
black  cattle  in  no  great  numbers. 
Their  firing  is  furze  and  turf.  Fish, 
fowl,  and  rabbits  form  their  prin- 
cipal food,  and  are  all  good  of  their 
kind.  The  garrison  consists  of 
forty  soldiers,  under  the  command 
of  a  captain,  maintained  by  con- 
tribution of  the  inhabitants.  The 
court  of  judicature  consists  of  one 
judge,  a  provost,  and  five  burghers. 
They  meet  every  Tuesday,  and, 
without  any  tedious  formalities,  in- 
tricate demurrers,  wire-drawn  ar-  : 
guments,  or  writs  of  error,  deter- 
mine all  causes  according  to  th6?K,'i 
mother  wit  and  grave  discretiony! 
except  in  cases  of  life  and  death, 
when  the  criminals  are  immediate-- 
ly  sent  away  for  trial  and  punislix 
ment  to  Guernsey.  Their  princi- 
pal trade  is  knitting  stockings, 
gloves,  caps,  and  waistcoats  ;  in 
which  men,  women,  and  children 
are  all  employed,  to  the  number 
often  of  thirty  or  forty  in  a  body, 
knitting  and  singing  together  in 
a  barn.  These  articles  they  trade^v 
with  to  England,  and  in  return  pro- 
vide themselves  with  every  neces- 
sary they  have  occasion  for. 

Somerset. 


■•'••f>.:c'::tt. 


ij  -'&ii& 


165 


Plate  15.— THE  BANQUETING-HOUSE,  WHITEHALL. 

The  spacious  palace  of  White-  |  five  smaller  :  bLtucen  two  of  the 
hall  was  originally  built  by  Hubert  latter  a  beautiful  circus,  with  an 
<ie  Burgh,  Earl  of  Kent,  the  great  i  arcade  below;  the  intervening 
and  persecuted  justiciary  of  Eng-  j  pillars oriiauiented  with  caryatides, 
land,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  IlL  [The  length  of  this  palace  was  to 
He  bequeathed  it  to  the  Black  j  have  been  1152  feet,  and  the  depth 
Friars  in   Holl)orn,  and  they  dis-  I  874. 

posed  of  it  in  1248  to  Walter  de  !  Little  did  James  imagine,  when 
Grey,  Archbishop  of  York.  It  be-  he  was  erecting  this  pile,  that  here 
came  for  centuries  the  residence  !,  his  son  was  to  step  from  the  throne 
of  the  prelates  of  that  city,  and  '  to  the  scaffold.  He  was  brought, 
was  styled  York-House.  Here  |j  on  tlie  rnoiMiing  of  his  death,  from 
Wolsey  took  his  final  leave  ofi'St.  James's,  across  the  Park,  to 
greatness;  and  by  his  forfeiture  it  Whitehall,  where,  ascending  the 
passed  into  the  hands  of  his  rapa- 
cious master.  As  the  ancient  pa- 
lace of  Westminster  had  some  time 
before  sufl'ered  much  from  fire, 
that  of  Whitehall  became  the  re- 
sidence of  the  British  monarchs, 
till  it  was  almost  wholly  destroyed 
by  the  same  element  in  1697. 

In  the  time  of  James  I.  White- 
hall wau  in  a  most  ruinous  state. 
He  determined  to  rebuild  it  in  a 


I  great  staircase,  he  passed  through 

I  the  long  gallery  to  his  bed-cham- 

!  ber.     Here  he  was  allowed  to  pass 

a  short  time  before  he    received 

the  fatal  stroke.     He  was  thence 

conducted  alojig  the  galleries  and 

j  the  Banqueting- House,    through 

;  the  wall,  in  which  a  passage  was 

broken,  to  his  last  earthly  stage. 

At  the  time  of  the  king's  death, 

'  contiguous    to    the    Banqueting- 


princely  manner,  and  to  make  it  j  House  was  a  large  building,  with 
worthy  of  being  the  residence  of  l|  a  long  roof,  and  a  small  cupola 
the  sovereigns  of  the  British  em-  rising  out  of  the  middle.  From  a 
pire.  He  began  with  pulling  down  |,  complete  plan  of  the  whole  edi- 
the  banqueting-rooms  erected  by  fice,  taken  in  1680  by  John  Fisher, 
Queen  Elizabeth.  The  structure,  j  and  engraved  in  1747  by  Vertue, 
which  now  bears  that  name,  was  I  it  appears  that  it  extended  along- 
commenced  in  1619,  from  a  design  the  river,  and  in  front  along  the 
of  Inigo  Jones,  in  his  purest  man-  '  present  Parliament -street  and 
ner,  and  executed  by  Nicholas  !  Whitehall  as  far  as  Scotland-yard, 
iStone,    master-mason    and    archi-     and   on   the   other    side   of  those 


tect  to  the  king.  It  was  finished 
in  two  years,  and  cost  17,000/.; 
but  was  only  a  small  part  of  a  vast 


streets  to  the  turning  into  Spring 
Gard'^n,  looking  into  St.  James's 
Park.     In  the  time  of  Charles  II. 


plan,  left  unexecuted  on  account  |  and   James   II.   not   only  all   the 
of  the  unhappy  times  which  sue-  ji  branches  of  the  royal  family,  but 


ceeded.  It  was  to  have  consisted 
of  four  fronts, each  with  an  entrance 
between  two  fine  square  towers : 
within,  a  large  central  court  and 
rol.  II    No.  JX. 


likewise  the  whole  court  and  all 
their  attendants,  found  accommo- 
dation within  its  walls. 

The    Banqueting -House,    the 
Z 


166 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


only  remaining  relic  of  tins  abode  j 
of  royalty,  has,  for  upwards  of  a  j 
century,    been   converted    into   a 
chapel.    The  ceiling  of  this  noble  j 
room    cannot   be    sufficiently  ad-  '; 
inired.    It  was  painted  by  Rubens, 
who  was  paid  3000/.  for  his  work,  j 
in  the  execution  of  which  he  is  ' 
said  to  have  been  assisted  by  his 
pupil   Jordaens.     The  subject   is 
the  apotlicosis  of  James  I.  in  nine 
compartments.     One  of  the  mid- 
die  represents  the  pacific  monarch 
on  his  earthly  throne,  turning  with 
horror  from  Mars   and   other  dei- 
ties of  discord ;  and,  as  it  were,  giv- 
ing himself  up  to  the  amiable  god- 
dess whom  he  always  worshipped, 
and  to  her  attendants.  Commerce 
and  the  Fine  Arts.  This  noble  per- 
formance is  painted  upon  canvas, 
and  is  in  good  preservation ;  but 
some  years  since  it  underwent  a 
repair  from  the  hand  of  Cipriani, 
who  is  reported  to  have  been  paid 
2000A  for  his  trouble.     The  altar- 
piece,  but  ill  suited  to  the  style  of 
the  rjlace.was  carried  thither  from 


the  old  palace,  having  escaped  the 
fire  which  destroyed  that  building, 
and  was  the  gift  of  Queen  Anne. 
Near  the  entrance  is  a  bronze  bust 
of  the  royal  founder,  larger  than 
life. 

This  building  has  of  late  years 
acquired  additional  interest  as  the 
place  where  the  trophies,  so  nobly 
wrested  by  British  valour  from  an 
enemy  who  arrogated  to  himself 
the  title  of  invincible,  are  deposit- 
ed. To  us  it  appears  a  question 
worthy  of  serious  consideration, 
whether  a  much  greater  effect 
would  not  be  produced  by  pre- 
serving these,  and  all  other  glo- 
rious memorials  of  our  victories, 
in  a  structure  open  every  day,  and 
every  hour  of  the  day,  to  the  gra- 
tuitous inspection  of  all  classes  of 
our  countrymen.  They  would 
surely,  in  this  case,  be  much  more 
likely  to  excite  that  glow  of  pa- 
triotism, and  to  cherish  that  mili- 
tary ardour,  which  it  is  often  of  the 
highest  importance  to  the  state  to 
1  inPiume  and  encourage. 


MUSICAL 
Fantasia^   in  zvltich  is.  introduced 
the  Air  of  "  The  Captive  to  his 
Bird,''^  arranged  and  composed  for 
the  Piano- Forte,  inscribed  to  Ma- 
dome  Marconi,  by  A.  A.  Klengel. 
Op.  19.  Pr.  3s.  6d. 
The  air,   "  The  Captive  to  his 
Bird,"  althougii  more  particularly 
and  authentically  introduced  in  the 
third  movement,  forms  the  ground- 
work of  all  the  various  pieces  con- 
stituting  this  fantasia.      It   is  dis- 
tinctly shewn  in  the  introductory 
adagio,    ill    the    two   aliegros,    the 
larglietto,  t!ie  p<)l;vcca,  and   in  the 
concluding    quick    movement;    so 


REVIEW. 

tiiat  the  whole  resembles  a  set  of 
free  and  irregular  variations  upon 
the  before-mentioned  theme.  To 
say  that  in  all  these  fine  taste  and 
consummate  talent  are  alike  per- 
ceptible, is  but  a  repetition  of  the 
praises  which  former  works  of  this 
auilior  liave  copiously  demanded 
at  our  hands  ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  detailed  analysis  of  a  work 
of  this  kind  would  far  exceed  our 
space.  Among  the  more  promi- 
nent e.xrellencies,  however,  of  this 
production  of  Mr.  K.'s  niuse,  we 
may  justly  number  the  able  har- 
monic treatment  of  the  air  itself  in 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


107 


tlie  andante,  /).  3,  especially  with 
regard  to  the  su|)|)oit  oF  the  left 
liand  ;  as  also  the  energetic  allegro, 
p.i,  the  peculiar  character  of  which 
alVords  scope  to  matured  executive 
jjroficicncy.     The  larghetto,  p.  6, 
distinguishes  itself  above   all,   in 
point  of  scientific  contrivance,  the 
subject  of  the   air    being   thrown 
into  the  shape  of  a  canon,  with  con- 
trary motion,   a  device  which  has 
led   to   the    employment  of  much 
elegant  contrapuntal  arrangement. 
The  succeeding  polacca,  and  par- 
ticularly its  trio  in  minor  key,  evince 
the  utmost  delicacy  of  expression, 
blended  with  occasional  display  of 
chromatic  digression.     In  the  last 
movement,  p.  12  (a  kind  of  coda), 
we  also  observe  some  very  select 
modulations,  preparatory  to  a  tine 
cadence  ;  after  which,  a  short  pres- 
to resumes  the  air,  and  tertjiinates 
the  fantasia  with  striking  eflect. 
"  2'he  Chough  and  Crow  to  roost  are 
gone,'"'  the  celebrated  Gipsey  Glee 
and  Chorns,  filing  in  the  musical 
Play  of  Guy  Mannering,  or  The 
Gipsey^s   Prophecy,  composed  by 
Henry  R.  Bishop.     Pr.  3s. 
Besides  the  tliree  principal  voices, 
two  trebles  and  one  bass,  for  which 
this  glee  is  set,  there  is  a  chorus  of 


able  arrangement  of  the  parts,  and 
the  active  instrumental  accompa- 
niments, produce  an  excellent  ef- 
fect.    After    this    the   second    so- 
prano falls  in  with  a  solo,  equally 
suited  to  the  character  of  the  poe- 
try, and  is  followed  by  tlie  chorus; 
and,  lastl}',  the  bass  enters  upon  a 
solo   in   its    turn,   the  energy   an4 
boldness  of  which  are  very  conspi- 
cuous, and  the  piece  is  wound  up 
by  the  chorus.     In  the  whole  of  this 
composition,   we   observe,   on   the 
one  hand,  the  most  just  conception 
of  the  text;  and,  on  the  other,  an 
inventive    originality,    guided    by 
matured  talent  and  knowledge  of 
musical  stage  eQect. 
"  The  (Vinds  zchistle  cold^''  Glee  in 
the  musical  Play  called  Guy  Man- 
tiering,  performed  at  the  Theatre 
lioyal    Covent-Gardeif,  composed 
by  H.  II.  Bishop.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 
This  glee  is  set  for  three  voices, 
an  alto,  tenor,  and  bass,  and  consi- 
derably resembles  the  one  belbre 
noticed,  in  style  and  arrangement. 
Its  opening  movement,  too,  appears 
to  us  preferably  attractive;  it  pos- 
sesses a  s'.\  eet  simplicity  of  melod  v, 
eminently  adapted   to  a  rich   har- 
monical  support,  and  well  relieved 
bv  the  blunt  and  enerj^eiic  solos  of 


four  and  five  parts  intervening  be-  I  the  bass  voice  which  occasionally 
tweeu  the  parts  assigned  to  the  ;  intervene.  The  choruses  in  this 
former;  but  the  whole  of  this  com-  i!  glee  are  limited  to  three  staves,  so 


position  may  also  be  had  arranged  i 
for  three  voices  only.     The  open-  [ 
ing  part  allotted  to  the  first  treble  j 
sets  out  with  a  highly  interesting 
subject,  and  proceeds  through  se- 
veral select  and  striking  passages, 
which    have    the   merit   of    corre- 
sponding eminently  with  the  im- 
pressive text  of  the  poetrv.     The 


tiiat  the  whole,  as  it  stands,  may  be 

executed  by  three  voices. 

A  tcell-known  favourite  Theme  bif 
A.  Mozart,  rcilh  six  new  I  aria- 
lionx,  composed  for  the  Harp,  with 
a  iiolin  or  Flute  Accompaniment, 
dedicated  to  Peter  Krard,  Esq. 
by  J.  B.  Mayer.  Pr.  4s.6d. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  name  a 


chorus  then  interposes,  and  its  wild     theme  better  adapted  to  variations, 
f^nd  original  melody,  as  well  as  the  ''  than  thesimple  and  neat  melodv  of 

Z   2 


m 


MUSICAL  Review; 


Mozart  which  Mr.  M.  has  chosen 
for  his  subject,  and  which  he  has 
treated  with  his  usual  success  iii 
compositions  of  this  kind.  The 
first  variation  is  conspicuous  by  the 
natural  flow  of  the  melody  under  a 
more  expanded  form,  and  by  some 
good  inner  parts.  In  the  second 
and  third  we  are  presented  with  a 
variety  ol  interesting  semiquaver 
and  triplet  passages  ;  in  the  fourth 
the  left  hand  is  set  in  harmonic 
sounds.  The  fifth  demands  notice 
on  account  of  the  very  effective 
bass  support;  and  the  sixth,  and 
last,  what  with  some  showy  pas- 
sages, crossing  of  hands,  and  its 
little  "  codina,"  arrives  at  a  proper 
and  well-wrought  conclusion.  Mr. 
Mayer's  numerous  variations,  be- 
sides the  good  taste  which  pervades 
them,  have  invariably  the  merit  of 
keeping  true  to  the  theme,  without 
deviating,  as  is  but  too  often  the 
case,  into  all  kinds  of  far-fetched 
extravagancies  and  concetti. 
The  Brunswick  Waltzes,  composed , 
'^'-  and  dedicated  with  Permission,  to 
<'•  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
^  Sussexj  by  Miss  Belina  Grimani. 
^^-Op.5.    Pr.os.  V ->\v\r^ 

As  pieces  for  the  piatno-forte, 
without  reference  to  their  aptitude 
for  the  ball-room,  these  waltzes, 
eight  in  number,  are  entitled  to 
much  commendation :  their  style 
is  rather  noy el,  and  the  ideas  in 
general  are  select  and  tasteful,  al- 
though, in  some  cases  perhaps,  a 
little  too  recherchees  aivd  artificial : 
hence  the  performer  will  here  and 
there  meet  with  calls  upon  con- 
'piderable  executive  proficiency. 
Among  these  practical  difficulties 
stands  foremost  Miss  G.'s  favourite 
-'-'liiode  of  bass  accompaniment,  by 
ieips  of  the  left  hand   from  the 


lower  dctswe  to  4  higher  fifth  or 
sixth.  To  be  possessed  of  the  knack 
of  this  digital  manoeuvre,  require* 
not  a  little  special  training.  This 
sort  of  waltz  accompaniment  seems 
at  present  to  be  much  in  fashion 
among  the  Germans;  and  the  per- 
formance of  these  waltzes  by  a  lady 

of  that  country,  Miss  K -1,  has 

brought  us  acquainted  with  tliem 
to  tl>e  bestadvantaije.  -'"' 

Rondo  for  the   Piano- Forte^  com^ 
posed,  and  inscribed  by  Permission 
to  Miss  Charlotte  Cripps,  by  Ca- 
roline Kerb}'.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 
Like  the  literary  labours  of  the 
fair  sex^  which,  generally  spealc- 
ing,  produce  rather  what  is  call- 
ed light  reading  than  subjects  of 
profound    meditation  ;    Miss   K.*s 
rondo   before  us  steers   perfectly 
clear  of  any  thing  which  could  be 
deemed  bordering  on   the  higher 
and  scientific  walks  of  composition  ; 
i  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  au- 
thoress has  succeeded  in  preparing 
musical  food  of  easy  digestion,  and 
;  pleasing  to  the  taste.    The  subject 
i  of  the  rondo  is  lightsome  and  pret- 
|ty;   it  is  agreeably  varied  in  the 
second   page;   crossed   hands  are 
effectively  introduced  p.  3;  in  the 
i  fourth  we  are  presented  with  an 
I  appropriate  minore  and  cadence  : 
'  in  short,  the  whole  of  the  move- 
j  ment  is  well  put  together,   aptly 
I  harmonized  upon  the  whole,  and, 
\  in  all  respects,  proper  for  the  prac- 
I  tice  of  students  of  moderate  profi- 
i  ciency^^-   '^f<-    b'-a^i'    S'ed    „  .w 
■  A  third  Air,  with  Variations,  for 
I      the   Piano-Forte^    composed,   and 
dedicated   by   Permission    to   the 
Hon.  Miss  Murray,  by  J.  F.  Bur- 
rowes.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 
The  theme  which  Mr.  B  has  de- 
vised for  his  variations,  is  a  very 


MUSICAL  IlEVIEW. 


169 


interestitrg  andantino  of  regular  ]  rough  knowledge  of  musical  $ci- 
coustiuction  (eight  bars  in  each  ence.  The  latter  <iualilication3  are 
part),  except  that  in  the  exposition  j  fully  evinced  in  the  composition  of 
of  the  theme  an  amplification  of  11  this  concerto,  which  consists  of  an 
two  bars  occurs  at  the  end  of  the  allegro  in  one  sharp,  an  adagio  in 
second  part;  which  are,  however,  j|  two  sharps,  and  a  polacca  in  one 
dropped  in  the  variations.  The  '|  sharp.  To  give  an  idea  of  tlxe  iu- 
variatiuns  demand  our  highest  aj)-  'i  finite  variety  of  beautiful  solos 
probation  ;  tljey  exhibit  great  in-  !  ivhich  tliese  iliree  movements  con- 
ventive  facility,  and  certainly  add  I  tain,  would  be  as  tedious  as  useless 
considerably  to  the  opinion  we  had  i  to  our  readers.  They  must  be 
formed  from  prior  works  of  Mr.  I  heard  to  be  appreciated.  Tliesub- 
B.'s  abilities  as  a  harmonist.  We  jects  of  the  movements  are  select 
can  plainly  perceive  the  careful  |  and  higiily  interesting,  and  the 
attention  which  has  been  exercised  /  lutfii;  as  far  as  perusal  enables  ns 
to   avoid    crudities   of    any    kind.  I  to  judge,  are  elegant  and  effective. 


Without   particularizing  the  indi- 
vidual   nicrits   of    each    variation, 


The  motivo  of  the  polacca  appears 
to  us  particularly  novel  and  agree- 


every  one  of  which  possesses  pecu-  I  able.noj^o'oro'}  tft«»' 

liar  features  of  interest,  we  shall  '  Sandersoyi^s  Studi/  of  (lie  Bow  aitd 


only  add  our  testimony  as  to  the 
extreme  aptitude  of  these  varia- 
tions for  the  desk  of  not  only  the 
advanced    student,    but    of    even 
scholars  of  limited  abilities.      ■,]*, 
vlr  No.  de  la  Souscription.    Trmsitifne 
f      Concerto  pour  in  Fiute,  aiec  Ac- 
compagneinent  de  Grand  Orclies- 
trCy  compose,  et  dedit  a  Madame 
ri-     Catalani,   par    L.   Drouet,    pre- 
miere ilute  de  la  Chapellc  du  Rot 
de  France.     Op.  19.  Pr.  12s. 


Fini^er- Board,  hein^Jifly  five  Va- 
riations  upon   a    TJiemCj   wherein 
,  are  displai/ed  a  great  lariety  of 
dijturent  bcxiiug  and  /ingering  ac- 
^-r'^H>rdiug  tQ  the  modern  School,  in- 
tended for  the  Practice  and  Im~ 
piwemcnt  of  Amateurs  and  young 
Professors  of' the  f'iolin,  zciih  an 
jJccompaniment,  ad  lib.  composed^ 
and  dedicated  by   Permission    to 
JPilliam  Shield,  Esq.    by  James 
.Sanderson.     Pr.  8s. 
We  have  perused  and  examined 


I)  In  introducing  this  concerto  to,} 
the  notice  of  our  readers,  we  must 'this  laborious  work  with  great  sa- 
premise,  that  we  have  not  had  the  ij  tisfaction,  and  we  sincerely  hope  it 
advantage  of  hearing  it  executed,  {will,  as  it  ought  to  do,  tend  to  en- 
and  that  our  opinion  is  consequent-  ',,  courage  the  study  of  the  violin,  an 
ly  tlie  result  of  mere  ocular  inspec-  j[  instrument  rather  neglected  of  late 
tion  of  the  work  before  us.  Those  l|  in  this  country,  among  amateurs  at 
who  have  heard  the  astonishing  i|  least,  although  the  most  perfect, 
powers  of  Mr.  Drouet  on  the  above- |j  elegant,  and  essential  of  all  musi- 

l.named  instrument,  must  have  felt  '  cal    instruments.     ^V'e    are    fully 
convinced,  that  his  talents  are  not  '  sensible   of  the    difficulty    of  the 


only    of    a    practical   description, 

but  that  his  celebrit}^  as  a  player  is 

-the  joint  result  of  mechanical  per- 

'.  fection,  elegant  taste^  and  a  tho- 


j  task  of  writing  a  work  of  this  kind, 
and,  above  all,  of  embodying  every 
desirable  feature  of  instruction  in 
fifty-five  variations  upon  one^lmme; 


170 


CONrLAGnfliTION"'  OF  jMOSCO  w. 


and  we  are  thererore  tlie  more  dis- 
posed to  pay  our  tribute  of  cordial 
approbation  to  the  masterly  man- 
ner in  vvliicli  the  task  has  been  per- 
formed. It  would  perhaps  have 
been  more  agreeable  to  the  pupil, 
to  have  chosen  several  (liferent  sub- 
jects for  these  numerous  variations, 
and  yet  equally  possible  to  convey 
the  same  quantum  of  instruction  ; 
but  the  preservation  of  the  same 
subject,  on  tlie  other  hand,  tends 
to  point  out  more  forcibly  the  dif- 
ference in  the  mechanical  treat- 
mentand  execution  of  the  passages. 
In  the  latter  respect,  Mr.  S.  has 
very  properly  left  little  or  nothing 
to  tlie  instinctive  guess  of  the 
learner :  be^.ides  indicating  the 
lingers,  as  well  as  the  different 
evolutions  of  the  bow,  by  means  of 
the  usual  signs,  concise  and  appro- 
priate directions  are  given  with 
every  variation,  to  explain  its  cha- 
racter, a!)d  the  peculiarities  to  be 
obaerved  in  its  execution.  The 
accompaniment  of  a  second  part 


weconsider  a  very  proper  addition 
to  the  work:  it  is  extremely  ele- 
gant and  effective, 
A  Military  Divertimento  for  the 
Piano- Forte,  composed,  and  dedi- 
cated to  Miss  Fanny  Cooke,  by 
Joseph  Sharp.  Pr.  2s.  6d. 
This  divertimento  consists  of  a 
march  and  a  quick  movement  in 
the  waltz  style,  both  in  three  fiats, 
and  both  evidently  devised  and  ar- 
ranged to  meet  the  sphere  of  the 
less  advanced  pupil.  To  this  ob- 
ject we  are  inclined  to  ascribe  the 
plainiiess  of  accompaninient  parti- 
cularly observable  in  the  march. 
I'he  subject  of  the  waltz  is  very 
pretty;  and  the  whole  of  that  move- 
ment is  treated  in  proper  style,  as 
well  as  with  more  liberality  of  har- 
monic support  than  the  march.  The 
trio  in  four  flats,  less  difficult  than 
might  be  thought  at  first  sight,  is 
pleasing;  and  a  proper  coda  ter- 
minates the  whole  in  a  workman -» 
like  manner. 
-tn:>'q*3r.  n. 
tfi  'R  Juq  fej. 

H  //m'tij  i\. 


THE  SELECTOR  : 

Consisting  nf  interesting  Extracts  from  new  Popular 
Publications. 


ml  n    .\,.xjri:j  r- } 


CONFLAGKATION    OF   MOSCOW. 

(Frofti  ,.Jaj«_e,s's  Travf.l^in  G^rmanj/,  Siveden,  &c.) 


N OTW lTHSTANDiNt3 rfche,  faV0iUI!r) 
able  state  of  the  public  mind,  such 
is  the  principle  of  the  iius^ian 
governmeinty  that  it  was  held  ex- 
pedient to  keep  the  people,  as,  far 
as  possible,  in  ignorance  of  the 
real  condition  of  affairs ;  aad  most 
singular  were  the  devices  adopted. 
About  ten  days  before  the  French 
forces,  entered  Moscow,  the  go- 
vernor, Rastopchin,  issued  a  pro- 


dlamation,  stating  that  a  balloon 
was  preparing  which  was  to  be  fill- 
ed with  various  combustibles,  and 
would  accomplish  a  great  scheme 
for  the  deliverance  of  the  country  ; 
that  on  the  following  Sunday  a 
small  one  would  be  launched  by 
way  of  experiment;  and  the  inha-' 
bitauts  were  forewarned  of  its  ap- 
pearance, lest  any  unnecessary 
alarm  should  be  excited,  for  it  \vas 


CONI'LAailAI  ION    OI'    MOSCOW. 


171 


only  tlio  forerunner  of  iliat  wliii'li 
was  to  tlestroy  Ziiodui/,  the  zciiked 
oii£.  Another  pvoelaination  re- 
quested the  youths  of  iMoscow  to 
meet  on  the  Sparrow  Hills  t)n  a 
stated  day,  in  order  to  repel  the 
presumptuous  hosts  of  the  ene- 
my. In  short,  eveiy  measure  tliat 
could  encourage  a  fallacious  hope 
of  contideuce  was  resorted  to  on 
this  occasion.  Some  reported  the 
battle  of  Borodino  to  have  been  a 
victory  on  the  part  of  the  Kussians, 
and  a  celebrated  personage  gave 
a  «rrand  dinner  in  honour  of  the 
event. 

On  Fritlay,  the  lltli  September, 
a  public  masquerade  was  adver- 
tised ;  but  the  general  consterna- 
tion had  by  this  time  gained  too 
nuich  ground  to  permit  the  citizens 
to  join  in  diversions  of  this  sort, 
and  only  two  persons  shewe{l  tlieni- 
selves  at  the  doors,  where  they 
viewed  the  entertainment  of  an 
empty  room. 

On  Sunday,  the  13th  Septem- 
ber, all  uncertainty  was  put  at  an 
end.  The  Russian  army,  in  full 
retreat,  entered  the  town,  and  the 
vaii-g^uard  already  held  the  road 
of  Vladomir.  Every  one  who  had 
been  deceived  by  idle  tales,  or 
who,  fondly  hoping  his  own  wishes 
might  prove  true,  had  procrasti- 
nated the  evil  hour  of  departure, 
now  hurried  to  join  the  crowd  of 
fugitives  at  the  city  gates,  and  a 
scene  of  confusion  ensued,  that 
served  to  increase  a  thousand- fold 
the  general  dismay. 

On  tlie  following  morning,  when 
the  tumultuous  passage  of 'the 
troops  was  concluded,  the  police 
and  the  olHcers  of  government  took 
their  departure  ;  the  few  miserable 
people   who  were  unable   to   tiy, 


shut  themselves  up  within  their 
houses,  and  waited,  in  jjain  and 
anxiet)',  tlie  dreadful  interval  that 
elapsetl  between  the  passage  of 
one  army  and  the  entrance  of  ano- 
ther. Here  and  there  the  outrajres 
of  a  fewhali^druidcen  wretches  es- 
caped from  the  prisons  were  heard; 
but  every  where  besides  the  gtill- 
ness  of  death  prevailed;  a  fearful 
calm,  that  seemed  destined  to  be 
the  precursor  of  some  dire  con- 
vulsion. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  on 
Monday  evening,  when  the  sound 
of  the  trumpets  anil  chitter  of 
horses'  feet  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  the  forces  of  Murat,  who 
led  the  advance  of  the  French.  The 
streets  were  filled  in  rapid  succes- 
sion; guards  were  quickly  posted 
at  every  open  spot  or  avenue,  and 
immediate  possession  taken  of  the 
Kreudin. 

Before  night  closod  in,  Bona- 
parte arrived  in  person  at  the  bar- 
rier on  the  Smolensko  road,  where 
his  temporary  residence  was  the 
scene  of  a  singular  occurrence.  He 
waited  some  time  in  seeming  sur- 
prise at  not  i-eceiving  a  formal  de- 
putation from  the  municipality  to 
present  him  with  the  keys  of  the 
town ;  but  suppo>ing  a  mistake 
might  have  caused  the  delay,  he 
dispatched  an  aide-de-camp  to  in- 
form them  of  his  arrival.  The  of-, 
ficer  soon  returned  to  liim  with  the 
account,  that  neither  magistracy 
nor  police  were  any  where  to  be 
discovered,  and  that  the  whole 
place  was  in  a  njanner  deserted. 
Bonaparte  was  amazed;  again  he 
sent  an  officer  to  endeavour  to 
search  for  some  person  at  least,  \a  ho 
miQ-ht  afford  him  inteilioence're- 
spectiag-  these  extraordioary  cir- 


172 


CONFLAGKATION   OF   MOS,CQW» 


cumstances :  his  .messenger  wan- 
dered about  far  an  hour  or  two  in 
vain,  at  last  he  lighted  on  a  poor 
schoolmistress  who  was  reported  to 
be  well  versed  in  the  French  lan- 
g uage ;  she  was  i n stantly  taken  from 
her  house,  mounted  on  a  droshka, 
and  sent  in  haste  to  a  conference 
with  the  mighty  Napoleon.  Her 
story  was  such  as  might  be  expect- 
ed ;  and  this  ambitious  despot  felt 
the  first  shock  of  the  great  cata- 
strophe that  awaited  his  fatal  ex- 
pedition, j 

Meanwhile  the  secret  prepara-  I 
tions  to  burn  the  town,  and  to  de-  i 
prive  the  French  army  of  the  re- 
sources they  hoped  to  secure,  had 
been  partially  curried  into  effect.  , 
Under  pretence  of  constructing  | 
the  balloon  before  mentioned,  a  { 
large  apparatus  of  fire-works  and 
combustibles  were  made  ready  by 
the  direction  of  M.  Smith,  at  Vo- 
ronzovo.  In  the  course  of  this  day, 
they  were  conveyed  and  distribut- 
ed, by  the  hands  of  various  emis- 
saries, throughout  every  quarter  of 
the  town,  and  applied  with  the 
greatest  assiduity.  The  confusion 
that  ensued  upon  the  occupation 
of  so  large  a  place  aided  the  secrecy 
of  their  operations,  and  in  a  few 
instances  some  of  the  inhabitants, 
on  the  eve  of  departure,  were  found 
to  lend  their  assistance  to  the 
scheme.  Fraught  as  they  were  with 
the  zeal  of  the  movxient,  they  set 
fire  vvith  their  own  hands  to  their 
empty  habitations;  even  women 
were  seen  kneeling,  crossing  them- 
selves for  an  instant  before  their 
own  doors,  and  then  flinging  in 
the  fatal  brand,  and  hurrying  away 
balf  dismayed  at  what  they  had 
doof. 

Qu  this  very  night  the  French 


observed  a  fianie  breaking  out  in 
the  Twerskaia,  a  part  of  the  city 
situated  on  the  north;  a  short  time 
after  a  bright  flan>€  was  seen  in  the 
Taoutsa  quarter,  and  several  build- 
ings of  the  Exchange  in  the  Kitai- 
gorod  were  reported  to  be  on  fire. 
These  phenomena,  however,  were 
disregarded  at  the  time;  they  were 
looked  upon  as  occurrences  of  ac- 
cident, orders  given  to  extinguish 
them,  and  little  further  notice  wa^ 
taken . 

By  Tuesday  evening  the  fires 
before  observed  had  assumed  a  ve- 
ry serious  aspect;  the  detachment 
employed  to  stop  their  progress 
reported  their  labours  to  be  in  vain  ; 
the  blaze  arose  in  a  tliousand  places 
at  once,  and  encircled  them  while 
plying  their  ineffectual  labours.  A 
south-west  wind,  which  prevailed 
the  whole  day,  increased  its  de- 
structive fury,  involving  in  ruin  all 
the  parts  of  the  town  lying  in  that 
direction.  Of  the  real  origin  of 
this  mischief  a  suspicion  was  as 
yet  scarcely  entertained,  though 
some  persons  charged  as  incendia«» 
ries  had  been  apprehended,  and  one 
daring  hand  that  feared  not  to  ad- 
vertise the  hated  invaders  of  what 
was  going  on,  had  thrown  a  rocket 
within  tlie  walls  of  the  Kremlin,    -v.! 

The  imperial  palace,  where  Bo«fj« 
naparte  had  taken  up  his  abode 
after  the  first  night  spent  at  the 
barrier,  was  situated  witliin  the  holy 
citadel;  and  whether  from  this  cir- 
cumstance, or  from  general  alarm 
at  the  fire  that  threatened  to  sur- 
round him  every  way,  I  know  not, 
but  it  is  certain  that  he  was  induced 
for  one  night  to  shift  his  quarters 
to  the  Petrovski  Palace.  Hither 
he  was  followed  by  between  three 
and  four  hundred  miserable  objects 


coS#L^'<Sh:lTi6N  dr  WoVcBw?*' 


173 


-^hungry, hoaseless citizens,  pUin-  face— the  lawlessness  of  confusion 
deretl  and  insnlird  by  the  soldier}',  ,!  reigned  throughout — and  the  eter- 
who  crowded  around  the  doors,  and  ||  nal  distrust  that  is  engendered  by 
with  dumb  show  and  palefaces  of  j  calamity,  ^dded  distraction  to  thei^ 
despair,  implored  the  protection 
of  him  that  was  tlie  cause  of  ail. 
But  what  could  be  done?     To  stop 


the  flames  was  imj)ossible;  for  ihe 
rest,  leaTe  to  piHage  had  already 
been  granted ;  and  numerous  bands 


sufferings. 

But  to  return.  On  Saturday 
mornincr  the  wind  fell,  and  s  the 
smoke  gradually  cleared  oIT,  ex- 
posed to  view  the  field  of  desolation 
ihat  no  words  can  attempt  to  de- 


of  marauders  infested  every  place  !  scribe. 


liiat  the  fire  permitted  to  their  hi 


pacity.     The  licentiousness  of 'dife  1  a  heart-rending  prospect  indeed 


army  was  uncontrollable. 

On  Thursday,  the  wiiiif,  wlthch 


To  the  feelings  of  a  liatiye  it  was 


bo  one  is  more  alive  to  the  pride  of 
his'  cdtintry  than  a  Russian.     But 


had  veered  round  bv  the  south,'  set  '  setting  aside  the  sense  of  disgrace, 


ill  violently  frotn  the  east,  as  if  it 
were  determined  that  the  destruc- 
tion shouldon  all  sides  be  complete. 


!  It  was  a  sight  involving  so  many 
!  feelings  inseparable  from  human 
'  nature,  that  few  ever  ventured  even 
On  Friday  it  became  still  more  jl  to  reflect  upon  the  measures  which 
boisterous;  and  the  fiery  current  II  had  beeri  adopted ;  and  noble  as 
quickeningalongthewooden alleys,  their  sacrifice  appeared  —  greatly 
instead  of  spreading  from  house  to  ji  as  it  had  befeiV admired  throughout 
house,  at  once  wrapt  whole  streets  '  Europe— ther(ft  is  no  Russian  at  this 
in  conflagration.  Throughout  this  ';  day  that  will  avow  from  svhat  means 
vast  place  nothing  was  heard  but  the  conflagration  arose;  but  it  is 
the  crash  of  timbers  and  walls,  with  !i  invariably  ascribed  by  people  at 
the  hollow  murmur  of  the  fire,  ■!  Petersburg,  as  well  as  here,  to  the 
while  to  the  sisrht  was  exhibited  a  'malice  of  the  French  army.  His- 
circle  of  dismal  and  smothered  !j  torV,  however',  'will  do  justice  to 
ruins;  the  wholeone  varyingscene.  !  the  iiationj  and  blazon  in  its  true 
In  some  distant  parts  the  breeze  *!oolbtirsthi's'^gnal  triumph  of  Rus- 
occasionally  fanned  out  a  motnen-  'f  siaii''ttia:gnanimity. 
tar}-  flame;  but  even  this  in  a  few  '|  It\Vas'frortn  the  road  as  it  passed 
seconds  died  away,  sinking  into  !  und'^r' the  turrets  of  the  Peirovski 
the  black  and  vaporous  deluge  that  ^''Palace,  that  we  first  beheld  the 
inundated  the  atmosphere.  *  ''^•myriads  of'  domes  and  steeples  that 

Such  were  the  features  of  hoiri^or^' yet  glktefed  among  the  relics  of  .^ 
il.at  shewed  themselves  within  the     Moscow,  and  a  short  hour  brought 
gates;  without,   a  wretrlred    crew     us  to  the  barriers.     At  our  first  en-    ^ 
of  fugitives,  noblesaifd   peasants,  •*'trande"feWs^1bptdrti'4  were  se^n  of,^ 
all  alike  fatigued  with  their  march,     a    nature  to 'correspond   with   the  ]^ 
and  destitute  of  food,  lay  on  the ',  ^^''-^oniy  appearance  which  we  had    ,^ 
roads,    and   watched    tWrmigh   the'f[ljeen  led- to^expect ;' btit  as'we  ad-,_^^ 
long   night,  "afar,   nfdr  off;"  the  f*VQneed,'tTie quarters 6f the Slabode, "V 
flames  of  the  hurntng  city.     Mtir-"  or /^7«.i//0«?-ir,  where  wood  had  chief-^" 
der-AT»d  rapine  stared  thertri?f  tht  'l^y  beeiT  trsed  in  building,  exhibited 
Ful.  11.  No.  IK. 


A  A 


174 


CONFLAGRATION    OF   MOSCOW. 


destruction  in  its  fnllest  extent, 
for  the  most  part  a  campagfie  ras3: 
now  and  then  the  shell  of  a  bouse 
was  seen  standing  in  a  blank  space, 
or  here  and  there  a  few  brick  stoves 
yet  remaining,  pointed  out  the  spot 
where  a  dwelling  once  had  been. 
Moving  onwards,  we  crossed  the 
avenues  of  the  boulevards;  the  trees 
were  in  full  leaf  and  beauty,  seem- 
ing to  vary  the  view  only  to  heighten 
its  melancholy  aspect.  Leaving 
this,  we  passed  to  the  central  parts 
of  the  tuwn,  tiiat  were  constructed 
with  more  durable  materials,  ex- 
hibiting occa  -ionally  a  richness  and 
elegance  of  exterior,  that  must  have 
equalled,  if  not  surpassed,  the  ar- 
chitectural magnificence  of  the 
most  beautiful  towns  of  Europe. 
All  was  now  in  the  same  forlorn 
condition  ;  street  after  street  greet- 
ed the  eye  with  perpetual  ruin; 
disjointed  columns,  mutilated  por- 
ticos, broken  cupolas,  walls  of  rug- 
ged stucco,  black,  discoloured  with 
the  stains  of  fire,  and  open  on  every 
side  to  the  sk}',  formed  a  hideous 
contrast  with  the  glowing  pictures 
which  travellers  had  drawn  of  the 
grand  and  sumptuous  palaces  of 
Moscow. 

The  cross  lanes  looked  even  at 
this  interval  as  if  unused  to  hear 
the  sound  of  human  tread  ;  the  grass 
sprung  up  amidst  the  mouldering 
fragments  that  scattered  the  pave- 
ments; while  alow  smoke,  issuing 
perhaps  from  some  obscure  cellar 
corner,  gave  the  only  indication 
of  human  habitation,  and  seemed 
to  make  desolation  "  visible."  If 
such  were  the  itnpressions  on  a 
stranger's  mind  at  the  present  day, 
how  poignant  must  have  been  the 
feelings  of  citizens,  who,  on  the 
evitciiatioii  by  tlie  enemy,  returned 


hither  to  contemplate  the  wreck 
of  their  fortunes  and  their  homes  ! 

They  were  not,  nevertheless,  so 
much  to  be  pitied  as  those  who 
were  constrained  to  remain  in  the 
town  during  the  reign  of  the  French; 
witnessing  the  daily  progress  of 
their  misfortunes,  as  well  as  expe- 
riencing in  their  own  persons  the 
bitterest  sufferings  which  want  and 
oppression  could  inflict.  The  num- 
ber was  not  large ;  only  about 
20,000,  out  of  a  population  of  more 
than  300,000,  having  been  detain- 
ed by  poverty  or  other  causes. 
Some  people  will  regard  the  pro- 
portion as  greater  than  common 
expectation  would  have  calculated 
upon  :  but  it  should  be  recollected, 
that  the  danger  of  their  situation 
was  for  a  long  time  concealed  from 
the  citizens;  and  flashing  upon 
them  as  it  did,  on  a  sudden,  it 
augn)ented  in  a  marvellous  degree 
the  diflEiculties  of  providing  the 
necessary  means  for  flight.  The 
demands  for  horses,  mules,  car- 
riages, were  exorbitant  beyond 
measure;  on  the  lastday,  four  and 
even  five  hundred  rubles  were  of- 
fered for  horses  to  the  first  stage 
out  of  Moscow,  and  repeatedly  re- 
fused. 

Many  also,  helpless  through  bo- 
dily infirmity,  were  constrained, 
under  the  circumstances  of  aggra- 
vation, to  abide  the  fury  of  the 
storm;  and  when  in  this  account 
we  include  between  7  and  8000 
wounded  soldiers  of  the  Russian 
army,  who  perished  either  through 
want  of  surgical  assistance,  or  were 
involved  in  the  general  conflagra- 
tion, is  it  possible  for  the  most  in- 
ventive genius  to  imagine  a  tale  of 
greater  horror  ? 

Another  class  again  was  compos- 


CONFLAGKATION    OF    MOtCOW. 


1 


iO 


cd  of  foreigners,  to  whom  an  at- 
tempt to  depart,  unless  under  pro- 
tection, would  have  beerv  at  the 
imminent  peril  of  their  lives.  The 
prejudices,  ignorance,  andrageof 
the  multitude  were  equally  ungo- 
vernable: every  stranger  was  with 
ihem  a  Frenchman  and  a  spy  ;  and 
several  were  cruelly  butchered  by 
the  peasants  on  the  road,  no  far- 
ther ground  of  suspicion  appearing 
than  their  iiinoranceof  the  Russian 

The  hardships  undergone  hfy  one 
of  the  German  merchants  were  re- 
lated to  us  as  we  passed  the  remains 
of  his  former  dwelling  ;  it  was  a 
small  house  situated  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from   the  city:   fearing   he 
mighthere  be  exposed  tothe  insults 
of  the  soldiery,  he  resolved  to  seek 
the  shelter  of  the  town,  setting  out 
for  this  purpose  the  very  day  on 
which  the  French  entered.     He  was 
unable  to  undertake  a  jo-'mey,  and 
scarce,   indeed,   could  look  to  an 
easy  accomplishment  of  this  short 
trip,  being  himself  afflicted  with  a 
severe  dropsical  complaint,  his  wife 
far   advanced    in    pregnancy,    and 
burdened  moreover  with  an  infant 
daughter  nine   months  old.     The  j 
party  was  joined  by  the  son- in-law 
and   the  daughter,  who  were  un-  ; 
willing  to  quit  their  side,  and  they  i 
repaired  to  the  habitation  of  a  friend 
in  Nikitskaia,  where  they  remain- 
ed during  the  entrance  of  the  troops. 
On  the  3d   September  they  were 
assaulted  and  plundered  of  whatever 
articles  the  military  robbers  chose  l 
to   lay   hands    upon:  after   which, 'i 
seeing  their  house  was  threatened  i 
by  the  rapid  advance  of  the  flames,  I 
they  were  again  forced  put  of  doors. 
A  droshka,  that  they  lighted  upon  i 
by    chance,    alforded   a  mode  of 'I 


I  conveyance  for  the  sick,  man,  his 
i  daughter  and   son-in-law  drawin"- 
it  by   turns;  on  their  route,  they 
were  attacked  by  a  second  body  of 
'  plunderers,  who  stripped  them  of 
the  greater  part  of  their  clothes, 
I  and   robbed  even   the  child   of  its 
swathings:     feeling   thankful   that 
no    farther   violence    was   offered, 
they  pursued  their  journey  till  they 
,  arrived  at  a  house  near  the  barrier 
Twerskaia ;  but  from   'lence  were 
[  again  driven  on  the  followmg  day 
by  the  flames.     They  now  sallied 
forth  for  the  third  time  in  quest  of 
an  habitation,  and  having  the  good 
fortune  to  be  accompanied  by  two 
French  officers,  were  preserved  from 
insult  by  their  polite  attendance. 
They   journeyed   near    five  veris 
through  the  smoking  ruins  of  the 
town,  and  finding  a  baihing-lionse 
which  was  entirely  deserted,  halted, 
and  fixed  upon  it  for  their  abode. 
Scarcely  had   they  been   settled   a 
fortnight,  when  they  were  assailed 
by  anew  sense  of  danger :  the  Cos- 
sacks, in  the  course  of  their  inroads 
to  Moscow,  paid  them  a  visit,  and 
imairinin"-    them,    from    some  cir- 
cumstance  or  other,  to  be  a  French 
family,  were  preparing  to  put  thctn 
to  death.     Some  of  the  party  had 
fortunately  concealed   themselves, 
and   only  tlie  sick   man,  with    his 
wife  and  child,  appeared  :  she,  hav- 
ing a  competent  knowledge  of  the 
Russian  language,  endeavoured  to 
persuade  them  of  their  error;  while 
he,  whose  imperfect  accents  uould 
have  iacreased  their  suspicion,  an- 
swered their  interrogations  only  by 
sighs  and  groans,  feigning,  though 
perhaps  it  was  scarcely  a  counterfeit, 
that  he  laboured  under  pangs  of  tlie 
acutest    suflering;    the    intruders 
were  at  last,  with  much  difficulty, 
A  A  2 


176 


noivonDOKi  iA&aiDiJsa^s«cr 


appeased,  but  on  their  departure 
left  our  poor  foreigners  in  such  -a 
state  of  agitation  and  alarm,  that 
they  dared  not  stay  anotlier  night 
in  this  exposed  part  of  the  town, 
and  set  out  on  their  travels  for  the 


fifth  time.  They  now  repaired  t» 
one  of  the  toll-houses^  where  three, 
who  alone  survived  the  miseries  of 
their  situation,  remained  till  the 
final  evacuation  of  the  city. 
(To  be  concluded  in  our  nexfi) 


io  'HOT  £  ilnvi  b^ir  FASH10N§^,^, 

mnJ  bHBdim/.K£l    LONDON    FASHIONS. 


oarii/ 


PLATE  16.— HALF   DRESS. 

A  STRIPED  sarsnet  gown,  very 
richly  trimmed  rouod  the  bottom 
with  a  flounce  of  deep  work,  finish- 
ed with  a  heading :  a  second  flounce 
is  set  on  at  some  distance,  which  is 
much  narrower;  it  is  also  finished 
with  a  heading.  Bows  of  Pomona 
green  ribbon  ornament  the  skirt  a 
little  above  the  flounce.  ' 

The  body  is  cut  very  low  J  it  is 
full.  The  sleeve  is  long,  very 
loose,  and  fancifully  trimmed  with 
bows  of  Pomona  green  ribbon,  to 
correspond  with  the  trimming  of 
the  skirt:  the  sleeve  is  finished  by 
a  very  novel  and  pretty  cuff  of 
pointed  lace.  Fichu  a  la  Duchesse 
de  Berri,  composed  of  white  lace, 
which  comes  very  high  ;  but  though 
it  shades  the  neck  in  the  most  de- 
dicate manner,  it  does  not  by  any 
means  give  an  idea  of  dishabille; 
-rion  the  contrary,  it  might  be  worn 
in  full  dress.  Hair  cropped,  and 
dressed  in  very  full  curls  in  the 
peck,  and  very  full  on  the  forehead. 
Striped  kid  slippers  to  correspond 
with  the  dress.  White  kid  gloves. 
Necklace  white  cornelian,  with  a 
small  gold  crpss.  Ear-rings  white 
cornelian.  .     r;    r. 

vfj.       PLATE  17. — EVENING  DRESS. 
Tfc*     A  white  British  net  dress  over  a 
oi  fvhit€^  sarspet  slip;    the   dress   is 
^t^inamed  round  the  bottom  with  a 
deep  double  flounce  of  lace,  sur- 


mounted by  a  wreath  of  roses,  im- 
mediately above  which  is  a  rollio 
orf  white  Sfatin.  This  trimming  is 
uncommonly  tasteful  and  striking. 
The  body  and  sleeves  are  of  thq 
same  material  as  the  dress;  the 
former  is  full,  and  cut  in  a  very  no- 
vel style:  a  quilling  of  blond  lace 
goes  round  the  bosom,  which  comes 
high  at  the  sides,  but  is  sloped  very 
much  just  in  front.  A  gma^l  bou- 
quet qf  moss  roses  shades  the  bo- 
som, and  gives  an  elegant  finish  to 
the  dress.  The  sleeve,  short  and 
extremely  full,  is  divided  into  com- 
partments by  rollios  of  satin.  Headr 
dress  a  wreath  of  moss  roses,  fan- 
cifully intermixed  with  corn-flow- 
ers ;  the  hair  very  becomingly 
dressed  in  light  loose  ringlets  on 
the  forehead,  and  moderately  high 
behind.  A  superb  white  lace  scarf, 
thrown  round  the  shoulders,  par- 
tially shades  the  back  of  the  neck. 
Necklace,  ear-rings,  and  bracelets, 
pearl.  White  satin  slippers,  and 
white  kid  gloves. 

We  are  indebted  to  the  conde- 
scension of  a  lady  of  distinguished 
rank  for  both  our  dresses  this 
month. 


GENERAL   OeSEKVATIONS   ON 
FASHION   AND    DRESS. 

The  unfavourable  state  of  the 
weather  since  the  publication  of 
our  last  number,  has  prevented  any 


TLate  id. 


::-'KlE  §  s 


PI4UX.J7.  yoi. 


lir^^ 


lE^^TE  J^ir  H"G     BRE  §  § 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON   FASHION   AND    DUESS. 


177 


change  worth  mentioning  in  the 
promenade  dress. 
c  The  Gloucester  bonnet  and  spen- 
cer are  in  the  highest  estimation 
for  the  carriage  costume  ;  the}'  are 
composed  of  white  satin  :  the  spen- 
cer lias  a  little  fulness  behind,  but 
is  tight  to  the  shape  in  front,  and 


perseded  it.  We  have  noticed  a 
very  elegant  dishabille  composed 
of  jaconot  muslin;  the  body  en- 
tirely loose,  and  confined  to  the 
waist  by  a  plain  white  ribbon  :  there 
are  four  casings  round  the  bust, 
which  form  the  dress  to  the  shape 
of  the  neck  and  bosom  ;  each  eas- 


is  trimmed  with  blue  satin,  in  an  l|  ing  is  ornamented  with  a  row  of 
uncommonly   novel    and    tasteful  j|  narrow  scolloped   work.     A   plain 


style.  It  has  a  half-sleeve  and  cufi", 
which  are  an  intermixture  of  blue 
and  white  satin;  and  a  trimming, 
composed  of  the  same  materials, 
goes  round  the  neck  and  down 
the  fronts  :   this  trimming,  about  a 


long  sleeve,  with  a  wristband  trim- 
med with  a  single  row  of  work. 
The  skirt  has  a  single  deep  flounce 
of  work  at  the  bottom  ;  this  is  sur- 
mounted by  a  narrower  flounce, 
put  on  in  waves.  This  is  an  elegant 


shells.     There  is  no  collar,  but  it 
js  worn  with  a  rich  lace  ruff. 


nail  in  breadth,  is  in  the  form  of  jj  and  lady-like  undress,  and  certain- 
ly much  more  appropriate  to  the 
morning  costume  than  the  profu- 

■    The  crown  of  the  bonnet  is  oval,  li  sion  of  lace  with   which  some  of 

and  of  a  moderate  size;  tiie  front  !  our  dashing  fasliionablts  l)ave  their 

is  small,  and  turns  up  a  little  to  one  ii  dresses  loaded. 


side;  it  is  ornamented  with  a  very- 
superb  plume  of  while  featl>eTs, 
tipped  with  blue. 

vii  Instead  of  the  very  light  mate- 
rials  usually  adopted  at  this  sca- 


In  dinner  dress,  plain  India  mus- 
lin, profusely  trimmed  with  lace, 
is  much  in  estimation,  as  are  striped 
silks  of  a  new  and  tasteful  pattern  : 
they  are  striped   in  shades  of  the 


3on  for  the  carriage  costutne,  our  j!  same  colour.  Shot  sarsnets,  parti- 
fair  fashionables  now  generally  '■  cularly  lilac,  azure,  blush-colour, 
wrap  themselves  in  silk  scarfs  or  '  and  green  shot  with  white,  are  in 
shawls,  which  have  the  double  re-  ^  great  estimation.  An  exceedingly 
commendation  of  being  warm  and  j;  pretty  silk  trimming  has  just  made 
light.  Muslin  pelisses,  so  elegant'  its  ajipearance:  it  is  an  intermix- 
and  so  appropriate  to  the  season,  'ture  of  twisted  and  floss  silk  in 
liaye,  from  the  coldness  and  hu- '' festooivs, Teach  festoon  finished  by 
midity  of  the  weather,  beep,  entire-  ''  a  rich  light  tuft  of  floss  silk:  though 
ly  laid  aside.  Sarsnet  pelisses  are  i  it  is  really  pretty  and  tastelul,  yet 
still  worn,  but  they  afford  no  no- l|4t  is  but  little  worn,  as  blond  and 
velty.     Tiie    light    and    beautiful  I'  satin,    though  so  long  in  fashion, 

scarfs  which  we  mentioned  in  one  il  are  still   in   Iviffh  estimation.     We 

i ' 
.of  our  late  numbers  are  now  not  at  '  have  no  alteration  in  the  forni  of 

all  seen.  \\  dinner  dress  to  notice  since  our 

Muslin  is  still  in  the  highest  fa-  |i  last  nnn)l)er. 


vour  for  morning  dress,  but  lace  is 
not  so  generally  worn   as  it  was;' 


For  the  form  of  the  most  elegant 
full  dress  that  has  been  seen  for 


small  plaited  muslin  flounces  ap-  j  some  tim<?,  we  refer  our-rcadcrs  to 
pesi!/>in^soine  degree,  to  have  sv^- |  oorpriotic  'Weliave)  howerer,  an- 


178 


FUR:^reH  ItemaltI;  fasiIions. 


other  elegant  novelty  to  announce, 
the  Gloucester  robe,  composed  of 
white  gauze,  and  worn  over  a  white 
satin  slip:  this  robe  is  trimmed 
round  the  bottom  with  a  beautiful 
embroidery  of  lilacs;  the  body  is 
made  very  low  all  round,  and  the 
back  and  fronts  are  shaped  by 
white  satin  welts,  which  have  a  very 
novel  effect.  The  sleeve,  which  is 
yery  short,  is  a  triple  fall  of  blond 
lace,  festooned  by  pearl  ornaments  : 
the  bosom  is  trimmed  with  a  double 
row  of  blond,  which  is  put  on  to 
resemble  a  small  pelerine.  The 
general  effect  of  this  dress  is  un- 
commonly tasteful  and  elegant. 
We  have  no  alteration  to  notice  in 
the  materials  for  full  dress  since 
last  month. 

Caps  in  half  dress  continue  to 
be  very  fashionable,  but  small 
white  lace  handkerchiefs  are  still 
more  so :  the  manner  in  which  they 
are  worn  is  not,  h.owever,  generally 
becoming.  The  hair  is  still  worn 
very  much  off  the  forehead,  and 
k)\v  at  the  sides ;  the  corner  of  the 
handkerchief  is  placed  so  as  to  fall 
over  the  forehead,  and  the  ends 
hancr  at  each  side :  a  bunch  of  flow- 


ers is  put  carelessly  on  one  side, 
but  some  tleganles  have  a  small 
chaplet  instead,  which  encircles 
the  hind  hair,  and  has  a  very  pretty 
effect. 

Full-dress  jewellery  continues  to 
be  composed  wholly  of  diamonds 
and  pearls :  coloured  stones  are  not 
at  all  worn  :  sprigs  of  pearl  are 
very  much  in  request,  and  have 
certainly  a  beautiful  effect  on  dark 
hair. 

The  hair  is  worn  lighter  on  the 
forehead  in  full  dress.  The  hind 
hair  is  either  fastened  up  in  a  full 
bunch,  or  part  of  it  plaited,  and 
brought  round  the  head  in  bands, 
while  the  rest  is  fastened  in  a  bunch 
at  one  side. 

Stout  silk  half-boots,  which  are 
made  very  low,  and  always  corre- 
spond with  the  dress,  are  most  in 
favour  in  tlie  carriage  costume. 
White  satin  slippers  for  full  dress 
are  now  cut  rather  lower  on  the 
instep. 

Fashionable  colours  for  the  month 
continue  the  same  as  last,  with  the 
addition  of  Pomona  green  and  la- 
vender colour. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  August  17. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

The  English  newspapers 
have  told  you  all  that  I  could  tell 
you  respecting  the  person  of  the 
Duchess  of  Berri.  She  is  certain- 
ly handsome,  though  not  critically 
so;  and  her  manner  is  so  full  of 
grace,  vivacity,  and  what  the  French 
call  houhommie,  that  she  is  extreme- 
ly popular;  and  what  perhaps  con- 
tributes as  much  as  any  thing  to 
render  her  so  with  the  ladies,  is  her 


taste  in  dress.  I  shall  give  you  a 
description  of  some  of  her  things 
by  and  by,  but  I  must  now  pro- 
ceed to  speak  of  our  present  fa- 
vourite promenade  costume. 

A  plain  round  dress  of  cambric 
muslin,  with  three  flounces  of  the 
same  material,  put  very  close  to 
each  other  at  the  bottom  of  the 
dress  :  the  waist  a  moderate  length ; 
the  back  narrower  than  when  I 
wrote  last,  and  made  with  a  little 
fulness ;    the  front    tight    to    th^ 


FttENCH    FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


179 


shape,  ami  cut  very  low.  Plain 
long  sleeve,  vvitli  very  little  ful- 
ness, tastefully  (iiiislied  at  the  waist 
by  an  iiiternnxture  of  muslin  and 
lace  let  in  hyas,  which  forms  a  very 
pretty  cuff.  Ficliu  of  tii//e,  with  a 
very  full  rulT:  I  thirik  there  are 
eight  falls  of  either  fti//t'  or  fine, 
but  not  hroail,  lace.  Over  this 
dress  is  thrown  a  rich  large  black 
lace  half-handkerchief:  those  of 
Chaniilly  are  most  in  request,  from 
tiie  peculiar  elegance  of  the  bor- 
der. The  favourite  promenade 
bonnet  is  the  prettiest  and  most 
becoming  that  I  have  seen  since 
my  residence  here.  It  is  composed 
of  white  gauze  ;  the  crown,  which 
is  oval,  is  ornamented  by  hands  of 
white  satin  at  the  toj),  which  form 
the  shape  of  the  bonnet;  the  front 
is  large,  ami  shades  without  con- 
cealing the  face:  it  is  finished  by 
a  triple  plaiting  of  tulle.  The  bands 
and  strings  are  white  satin  ;  a  bou- 
quet, composed  of  blue  bells,  dai- 
sies, pinks,  and  roses,  is  placed  on 
one  side.  As  this  bonnet  is  per- 
fectly transparent,  it  is  in  the  great- 
est request  with  those  belles  who 
have  a  fine  head  of  hair.  I  had 
forgot  to  observe,  that  it  is  of  a  very 
moderate  height. 

Worked  muslin  is  also  in  ver}' 
great  favour  for  the  promenade. 
Silk  is  now  very  little  seen  ;  it  dis- 
appeared with  the  bad  weather, 
whicli  quilted  us,  I  hope,  entirely 
about  ten  days  ago.  All  prome- 
nade dresses  are  made  nearly  like 
the  one  I  have  described.  Worked 
muslin  is  usually  trimmed  uith 
lace,  and  worn  with  a  lace  ^'c^M, 
or  else  one  of  the  finest  clear  mus- 
lin, small  -  plaited.  "White  lace 
shawis  and  scarfs,  though  not  so 
generally  vtrorn  as  black  ones,  are 


considered  as  very  elegant ;  and  a 
few  belles  of  distinguished  taste 
have  sported  pelerines  oi  tulle,  which 
fall  a  little  below  the  waist  behind, 
and  the  ends  reach  nearly  to  the 
knee  in  front:  they  are  trimmed  all 
round  with  a  very  fine  lace.  I'hese 
pelerines  are  very  becoming  and 
extremely  tuiiisli,  but  their  high 
price  prevents  their  being  very 
general. 

I  believe  there  are  at  present  net 
less  than  twenty  dress  and  undress 
promenade  bonnets  and  hats;  for 
in  that  respect  the  fashion  changes 
incessantly.  For  u:orning,  cam- 
bric muslin  is  most  in  request;  the 
bonnets  composed  of  it  are  all 
made  full,  and  both  crown  and 
front  are  usually  shaped  l)y  draw- 
ings, of  which  there  are  generally 
two,  put  at  about  an  inch  distance 
from  each  other:  three  of  these 
double  drawings  form  the  front, 
and  three,  or  sometimes  four,  the 
crown.  Some  ladies  wear  the  ed<Te 
of  the  front  trimmed  with  two  or 
three  rows  of  tulle,  and  a  bunch  of 
flowers  at  the  side;  others  wear 
them  without  any  other  trimming 
than  a  large  rosette  of  muslin,  ami 
plain  white  strings:  the  number  of 
these  belles,  however,  is  very  limit- 
ed, and  every  day  decreases  it;  for 
of  all  affectations,  the  one  of  which 
a  Frenchwoman  tires  the  soonest 
is  simplicity. 

Straw  is  also  very  much  in  fa- 
vour; plain  round  hats,  such  as 
were  fashionable  about  three  years 
ago  in  London,  are  much  worn: 
however,  you  must  not  say  so  here, 
for  they  will  not  admit  that  they 
copy  us  in  any  respect.  Chnpeaur, 
composed  of  straw-colour  silk  and 
gauze,  are  also  a  great  deal  \Aorn, 
as  are  green  chip  and  plain  Leg- 


180 


FRENCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS. 


horn  :  all  these  are  calculated  only 
fordishabiile.  Tiiose  made  of  cam- 
bric muslin  are  called  capotes.  But 
there  are  some  exquisitely  pretty, 
composed  either  of  lace  or  gauze, 
for  the  dress  promenade.  One  of 
these,  made  in  white  lace,  is  a 
small  hat,  which  comes  in  a  peak 
on  the  forehead,  is  turned  up  on 
one  side,  and  ornamented  with 
pink  satin  in  front.  This  little 
jauntee  hat  is  totally  different  in 
shape  from  any  head-dress  I  have 
ever  seen  ;  it  was  introduced  by  a 
very  dashing  marquise,  and  is  cer- 
tainly extremely  becoming,  parti- 
cularly to  Hebe-faced  belles  like 
yourself,  my  Sophia. 

But  I  had  nearly  forgotten  a  very 
material  point;  I  should  have  told 
)0u,  that  straw  hats  are  always  or- 
namented both  with  flowers  and 
ribbons:  wreaths  of  moss  ros^es, 
without  leaves,  are  very  general,  as 
are  also  fancy  flowers  made  of 
straw  :  straw-coloured  ribbons  are 
just  come  into  favour,  hitherto 
white  only  have  been  worn.  White 
chip  hats  are  ornamented  with  co- 
loured ribbons  and  bunches  of  blue 
daisies,  amaranths,  and  gilliflow- 
ers.  Leghorn  are  generally  trim- 
med with  white  or  yellow  gauze, 
laid  on  full  in  rolls;  and  bonnets 
of  every  description  are  now  worn 
lined.  In  this  respect,  French 
taste  is  very  bad ;  the  lining  rarely 
corresponds  with  the  trimming  or 
ornaments ;  as,  for  example,  you 
see  a  bonnet  lined  with  blue,  trim- 
ined  with  green,  and  perhaps  orna- 
mented with  a  bunch  of  different 
coloured  flowers:  at  present,  blue, 
rose-colour,  and  green  are  favour- 
ite linings;  but,  I  think,  plaid  silk 
is  still  more  than  any  thing  in  re- 
quest, and  some  few  of  our  most 


distinguished  fashionables  hav^ 
sported  bonnets  entirely  composed 
of  it. 

English  materials  are  still  in  re- 
quest for  undress,  but  the  form  of 
dishabille  is  much  improved  since 
my  last;  thanks  to  the  good  taste 
of  the  Duchess  de  Berri,  to  whom 
we  are  indebted  for  the  prettiest 
morning  dress  I  ever  saw:  it  is 
composed  of  jaconot  muslin,  open 
in  front,  and  made  to  wrap  very 
much  to  one  side.  The  body,  a  la 
chemiset,  is  confined  to  the  waist  by 
a  blue  silk  sash,  which  ties  behind 
in  a  bow  and  long  ends:  the  upper 
part  of  the  body  is  composed  en- 
tirely of  letting-in  lace,  which  is 
made  tight  to  the  shape,  and  dis- 
plays the  contour  of  the  bust  to  the 
greatest  advantage  :  a  double  frill 
of  lace  encircles  the  throat.  The 
sleeve,  long  and  very  full,  is  drawn 
at  the  shoulder,  so  as  to  form  a 
pretty  kind  of  half-sleeve,  which 
is  ornamented  with  bows  of  nar- 
row blue  ribbon:  three  easin<xs  of 
blue  ribbon,  each  finished  with 
bows,  and  a  triple  fall  of  lace,  fi- 
nish the  sleeve  at  the  wrist.  I  have 
observed  that  the  dress  was  open 
in  front;  one  side  is  square,  but 
the  other  is  rounded;  it  is  trimmed 
round  with  lace,  and  festooned  at 
distances  of  about  a  quarter  of  a 
yard  with  blue  ribbon.  This  dress 
is  always  worn  over  a  cambric  slip, 
which  is  trimmed  with  three  or  four 
flounces:  the  under  dress  is  a  little 
displayed  in  front,  and  the  general 
effect  of  this  tasteful  undress  is 
more  elegant  than  you  can  con- 
ceive from  my  description  of  it. 
The  cortiette  worn  with  it  is  of  a 
whimsical  but  not  unbecoming 
shape  ;  it  is  a  plain  round  cap,  com- 
posed of  the  finest  clear  muslirr. 


FRfiNCtl.5r  ElMALE -FASHIONS. 


IB  I 


over  which  is  a  very  higU  crown, 
made  full,  and  ortHtinenied.w^ti) 
medallions,  I  think  you  cull  them 
in  England,  of  leltin<^-in:  lace;  a 
profusion  of  tlowerg  nre  placet!  in 
/ront,  and  a  large  bow  of  blue  rib- 
bons ornanienis  it  at  the  side. 

White  is  still  predominant  in 
dinner  dress  3  worked  and  clear 
jnuslin  are  very  much  in  request, 
and  white  striped  and  plain  sars- 
net  are  also  much  worn.  \Vaists 
still  continue  a  very  becoming- 
length;  but  the  bodies  of  dresses 
are  made  much  higher  than  when 
I  wrote  last,  and  long  sleeves  are 
so  general  tliat  one  sees  hardly  any 
thing  else.  With  respect  to  trim- 
mings there  is  nothing  very  novel; 
we  still  wear  blond  for  silk  dresses, 
or  else  rolls  of  satin  :  these  last  are 
very  much  in  favour.  Tliey  are 
worn  nmch  larger  than.  wliea^J^ 
wrote  last.  :    jr  '  ^^ 

Gauze  continues  in   favoupjfor;  | 
full  dress.     I  was  the  other  night 
at  a  ball  given  by  the  Marquise  de 

F ,  one  of  the    new  nobility, 

whose  splendid  mansion  and  ele- 
gant  su[)pers  make   all   strangers 
anxious  to  be  introduced  to  her, 
though  entre  nous  her  coarse  man- 
ners, provincial  accent,  and  incor- 
rect language,  expose  her  to  the 
ridicule  of  her  guests;  and  I  ob^  | 
served  scarcely  any  thing  but  white' 
gauze  worn  by   the  juvenile,' or' 
would-be   juvenile,    part    of    the 
company:     some     striped     gauze^ 
dresses  were  lightly  eHibToidered'> 
in  a  running  pattern  of  silver  rouwd: 
the  bottom,  a  girdle,  embroidered 
in   a  .similar    ujanner,    round  i^ttie' 
waist,  and  a  sliort  sleeve  tastefully 
festooned    with    silver   ornanients. 
Other  ladies  wore  white  satin  slips, 
embroidered  in  color.rs  round  :tiie; 

rj.  If.  K9.  IX 


bota)m,  with  plain  gauze  dresses, 
ie&tooned.sQ  as  to  display  this  rich 
r^nd  beautiful  border;  ta<h  ftstoon 
ornanjtnted  with  a  sprig  of  rose- 
bud^ii.  -.  The  bosom  and  sleeves  were 
trinimed  to  corres.,ond.  T  iitTC 
were  a  few  gauze  petticoats  over 
white  satin  slips,  the  ibrmer  trim- 
med with  biond ;  and  while  satin 
jackets,  made  about  half  a  quarter 
deep  behind,  and  very  full,  but 
shjped  to  a  point  in  front.  Tiiese 
jackets  wer«  generally  worn  by 
very  juvenile  delies;  for  whou),  in- 
deed, they  are  expressly  calculat- 
ed. \V  reaths  of  lilies,  moss  r  jses, 
jasmine,  corn-tlowers,  and  peach- 
blossom,  were  very  general:  the 
majority  of  the  ladies  followed  the 
example  of  the  Duchess  de  Berri, 
in  intermixing  flowers  with  jewels 
in  their  hair. 

I  ,:..Before  I  close  my  letter,  which 
'is>  however,  unccnscional)!y  long,  I 
'must  describeto  you  a  most  superb 
court  dressy  ■n^hich  has  jiist  been 
made  up  for  the  Duchess  de  Berri. 
A  wliiie  satin  manteau,  snjierbly 
ornamented' round  the  bottom  witli 
a  border,  of  flowers  composed  of 
pr«ciuns  stdiies.  and  a  robe  of  green 
ticliBf  hprdr&ed~  with  silver  lama, 
Nyiiicliis  wlab-cprich^  with  jewels : 
at  tWeafatidiiof  tlie  robe  is  a  triple 
roivDtjfvtbo  flCftC  magnificent  point 
lace,'  i^^ii^k^St^nd.s  up  behind,  but 
;cfjim«'  i^jfuttiuir  thsn  the  shoul*^' 
iters;.:  i.ni(.-hnoned  to  you  some 
tiioe  agbj  fthat  the  Dnchess  d'An- 
gouleiueiiidd- introduced  lappels  at 
tourt:  tbefr  ejTeet  is  much  more 
<rrftceful  tflan  you  wouUI  suppose. 
I«  fAiUodrFSfs^  the  hair  is  worn 
disposed  m  light  ringlets  on  the 
forehead;  the  hind  hair  is  platted 
ittJthree^jrfourbands, arrd  d4sposed^ 
tbe  Iwath'.''  The'  fasli*ona^l4* 
B  B 


18i 


...FASHIONABLE   lUUMTURE. 


colours   are   pink,   azure,    peach-  |  costume,  to  mention  that  sashes  of 
blossom,  green,  and  lilac.  coloured  ribbon,  especially  plaid. 

In    lialt'-dress  jewellery,    varie-  ,  are  in  high  request,  and  that  para- 
gated  cornelian  is  very  much  worn  ;  ,  sols  are  very  large. 
I    know  not  any  thincr  more  be-  '      Adieu,  dear  Sophia !  believe  me 


coming.  There  is  no  novelty  in 
the  shape  of  ornaments.  I  had  for- 
got, in  speaking  of  the  promenade 


ever  your  affectionate 


EUDOCIA. 


FASHIONABLE  FURNITURE. 

PLATE    14. — A    SMALL    BED. 


The:  annexed  design  represents 
a  bed  intended  for  tlie  apartment 
of  a  young  lady  of  fasldon.  The 
hangings  are  of  light  blue  silk,  the 
ornaments  being  a  tender  shade  of 
brown,  and  the  linings  to  corre- 
spond; they  are  supported  b}-  rings 
and  rods  of  brass,  beiiind  which  the 
curtains  are  suspended,  and  drawn 
up  by  silk  cords,  enriched  with  tas- 


sels. This  design  has  been  so  ex- 
ecuted, and  had  a  very  elegant  and 
rich  effect:  it  would,  however,  be 
suitable  to  draperies  of  the  usual 
material. 

In  the  present  state  of  our  silk- 
manufactories,  the  adoption  of  a 
similar  style  of  furniture  for  our 
apartments  would  prove  a  national 
advantage. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Mr.  CoLBURN  will  shortly  pub- 
lish, by  authority,  in  French  as 
well  as  English,  the  following  im- 
portant productions:  —  1.  Corre- 
sputuleiue  of  M.  Foiicht,  Duke  of 
Otranto,  zeit/t  his  Grace  the  DiiUe 
of  lVellington.—2.  A  Sketch  of  the 
public  Life  of  M.  Fouche,  Duke  of 
Otranto;  comprising  various  cor- 
respondence, addressed  to  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon,  King  Joachim,  the 
Duke  d'Artois,  Prince  Blucher, 
Louis  XVIII.  Count  de  Blacas, 
and  other  ministers,  &c. — This 
work  pourtraysthis  celebrated  cha- 
racter as  he  really  is.  It  exhibits 
his  most  secret  sentiments,  the  spi- 
rit of  his  public  life,  and  the  prin- 
ciples which  have  directed  him  at 
all  periods  and  in  situations  the 
most  diversified.  The  political  do- 
cuments  will    be  found    to    throw 


great  light  on  the  personal  relations 
of  the  duke,  and  on  the  history 
and  character  of  recent  events. 

Mr.  Accum  has  in  the  press,  A 
Practical  Essai/  on  Chemical  lie- 
agents,  or  Teats,  illustrated  bif  a  Se- 
ries of  Experiments.  The  work  will 
comprehend  a  snmm.ary  viewof  the 
general  nature  of  chemical  tests, 
the  effects  which  are  produced  by 
the  action  of  these  bodies,  the  uses 
t(j  which  they  are  applied,  and  the 
art  of  applying  them  successfully. 
A  chemical  cliest,  containing  the 
re-agents  and  apparatus  necessary 
for  performing  the  experiments 
described  in  the  treatise,  will  also 
bedelivered,  if  required,  asa  com- 
panion to  the  work,  which  will  be 
published  on  the  3d  of  September. 

Mr.  Jackson  of  Islington  will 
publish,  early  in  September,  anew 


INTELLIGI-NCF.,    LITERARy,    SCHN  IIFtC,    &C. 


18. J 


and  improved  %.v7(v//  of  Mueninuics, 
or  two  Hours  Study  in  tiie  Art  of 
Memory ;  illustrated  with  many 
plates:  calculated  for  tlie  use  of 
schools,  as  well  as  for  those  who 
have  attended  public  lectures  upon 
the  suh'iect. 

y/  History  of  N/jui/,  containing 
not  only  geographical  information 
relative  to  that  kingdom,  hut  also 
illus'rutive  of  its  relaii(;ns,  politi- 
cal and  commercial,  with  the  Bri- 
tish dominions  in  Asia,  Tibet,  Tar- 
tary,  and  the  Chinese  empire,  and 
the  rise  and  progress  of  the  late 
war,  will  speedily  appear  in  an  8vo. 
volume. 

Some  yJccount  of  jihantuh  and 
Fa)iti/n,  and  of  the  rest  of  the  Gold 
Cotiit  of  Africa,  is  in  the  press. 
The  recent  intelligence  of  a  war 
between  the  people  of  those  coun- 
tries, and  the  general  ignorance 
which  prevails  respecting  them, 
render  a  work  of  authority  on  that 
subject  very  desirable, 

Capt.  Lockett,  of  the  East  India 
Company's  service,  is  preparing 
for  publication.  Travels  from  Cal- 
cutta to  Bahijlnii;  including  stric- 
tures on  the  history  of  that  ancient 
metropolis,  and  observations  made 
among  its  ruins.  The  work  will 
be  illustrated  with  engravings. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  JMaurice  has 
in  the  press,  in  4to.  Obscrvatiom  on 
the  Ruins  of  liaOj/loit,  as  recently 
visited  and  described  by  Claudius 
James  Rich,  Ks(|.  resident  for  the 
Kast  India  Company  at  Bagdad. 

Mr.  E.  V.  Utterson  is  preparing, 
in  two  volumes,  a  Collection  of  Se- 
lect Pieces  of  carlif  Popular  Poefri/, 
written  before  the  close  of  the  16th 
century.  As  one  object  in  view 
is  to  illustrate  the  literary  amuse- 
inent   of  our   ancestors,  no   poem 


will  he  introduced  which  did  not, 
either  in  its  matter  or  style,  lay 
claim  to  popularity.  Each  poem 
will  be  ornamented  with  a  wood- 
cut, and  have  a  short  notice  pre- 
fixed to  it. 

yj  Description  of  the  People  of 
India,  b^  the  abbe  J.  A.  Dubois, 
missionary  in  the  Mysore,  in  a  lio. 
volume,  is  nearly  ready  for  publi- 
cation. This  work  is  the  result  of 
a  diligent  observation  and  study  of 
the  people,  during  a  residence  of 
many  years  among  their  various 
bribes,  in  unrestrained  intercourse 
and  confurmiiy  with  their  habits 
and  manner  of  life. 

A  translation  of  the  Antirjnarian 
Travels  in  Jtali/  of  the  learned 
French  archocologist  M.  IMillin,  is 
preparing. 

Mr.  T.  RusscKjun.  of  Guildford, 
'\»  publishing,  by  subscription,  a 
Picturesque  f'ieto  of  that  aticient 
towji,  on  a  large  scale,  from  a  spot 
which  displays  to  great  advantage 
its  venerable  castle  and  other  build- 
ings. 

A  new  poem,  entitled  Emigra- 
tion, or  En^lawl  and  Paris,  will  be 
published  in  a  few  days. 

Mr.  Pope  will  shortly  publish  a 
new  edition  of  his  ylhridgment  of 
the  Larvs  of  the  Customs  and  Excise, 
brought  down  to  t!»e  present  time. 

A  new  edition  of  ?vlr.  Harmer's 
Observation:'  on  various  Passages  of 
iScnptw%  with  many  important  ad- 
ditions and  corrections  by  Adam 
Clarke,  LL.  D.  1'.  8.  A.\vill  be 
published  in  a  very  few  days,  in 
four  vols.  8vo. 

The  sci'.se  of  hearinjj  beinjj  the 
inlet  of  huuian  knowledge,  any  di- 
minution oi  that  power  must  of 
necessity  mai'.'rially  deteriorate  in- 
tellectual attainments;  but  vvhea 
B  B  2 


184 


INTELLIGENCK,   LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,   &C. 


total  deafness  occurs  from  infancy, 
difficult  and  miserable  must  be 
the  passage  tiirough  life.  Messrs. 
Wriglit  and  Son,  of  Bristol,  having 
been  very  successful  in  cases  of  a 
diminution  of  the  faculty  of  hear- 
ing, have  turned  their  attention  to 
to  t'.iose  born  totally  deaf,  and  in 
consequence  dumb  as  to  articula- 
tion of  sounds  which  could  be  un- 
derstood. The  result  of  their  ex- 
ertions and  a  determined  persever- 
ance has  shewn,  th.at  these  cases 
are  not  altogether  hopeless;  they 
have  restored  several  who  were  born 
deaf  and  dumb  to  the  enjoyment 
of  liearing,  and  they  are  in  con- 
sequence making  great  progress  in 
conversation. 

On  the  29th  of  July  a  public  meet- 
ing was  held  at  the  City  of  London 
Tavern,  to  consider  of  the  best 
means  of  relieving  the  distresses 
which  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  manufacturing  and  labouring 
poor  are  suffering  for  want  of  em- 
ployment. The  Duke  of  York 
presided,  and  the  meeting  was  at- 
tended by  his  royal  brothers,  the 
]3ukes  of  Kent  and  Cambridge, 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  and 
many  other  distinguished  persons. 
A  subscription  was  opened,  to  which 
his  Koyal  Highness  the  Prince  Re- 
gent contributed  500/. ;  the  Queen, 
the  Dukes  of  York  and  Cambridge, 
300/.  each;  the  Princess  Charlotte 
and  Prince  Leopold,  400/.,  and  the 
other  branches  of  the  ro3-al  family 
100/.  each  Tlie  total  sum  sub- 
scribed for  this  benevolent  purpose 
on  the  20th  of  August,  amounted  to 
about  35,000/.  The  Committee  of 
the  Association  formed  for  the  ap- 
ydication  of  relief,  have  circulated 
»in  address,  which  concludes  thus :~ 


"It  is  undeniable  that  the  want 
of  en)ployment  is  one  of  the  most 
pressing  evils  of  the  present  pe- 
riod. The  committee  have  there- 
fore heard  with  no  small  pleasure, 
that  many  masters,  who  had  nu- 
merous bodies  of  workmen  in  their 
service,  have  judiciously,  as  well 
as  most  humanely,  continued  to 
employ  them  all  at  moderate  work, 
rather  than  a  reduced  number  of 
hands  in  full  occupation. 

"  It  can  scarcely  be  necessary 
for  the  committee  earnestly  to  re- 
commend a  general  attention  to  all 
practical  means  of  providing  new 
labour,  of  a  beneficial  kind,  for 
those  whose  labour  is  become  re- 
dundant in  its  ordinary  employ- 
ment. In  man}^  districts  it  is  pro- 
bable, that  an  accurate  inquiry 
might  suggest  various  agricultural 
and  other  improvements,  and  works 
of  general  utility  ;  to  which,  in  the 
actual  circumstances  of  the  coun- 
try, such  labour  might  be  directed, 
both  with  present  and  permanent 
advantage;  and  it  can  scarcely 
be  necessary  to  declare,  that,  in 
cases  of  this  nature,  it  will  afford 
peculiar  satisfaction  to  the  com- 
mittee, not  only  by  their  funds,  so 
far  as  their  resources  will  allow, but 
also  by  their  established  connec- 
tions and  correspondencies,  to  for- 
ward the  accomplishment  of  such 
useful  undertakings.  On  the  whole, 
the  committee  are  persuaded,  that 
the  liberality  of  the  public,  judi- 
ciously applied,  in  aid  of  such  plans 
as  shall  be  locally  adopted,  may 
produce  extensive  and  beneficial 
effects,  in  multiplying  the  occupa- 
tions, supplying  the  wants,  and 
diminishing  the  sufferings  of  their 
fellow-subjects  during  the  present 
severe  pressure. 


POETRY. 


185 


"On  these  irrounds  the  commit- 
tee now  confidently  appeal  to  the 
known  benevolence  of  the  puhlic, 
and  venture  to  request,  that  the  de- 
sired assistance  may  be  granted  with 
that  distinguished  liberality  which 
has  often  relieved  the  sufferers  of 
other  nations,  and  with  that  promp- 
titude which  the  present  exigency 
so  urgently  requires." 

A  statement  of  the  contributions 
received  by  the  committee  lor  the 
relief  of  the  suifering  inhabitants 


of  the  field  of  battle  of  Leipzig, 
together  with  an  account  of  their 
application,  has  just  been  publish- 
ed at  Leipzig.  It  occupies  112 
octavo  pages.  From  minute  in- 
vestigations, it  appears  that  the  to- 
tal amount  of  the  damages  sus- 
tained by  these  poor  people  is  esti- 
mated at  above  2|  millions  of  dol- 
lars, and  the  sums  received  to  93,687 
dollars,  about  50,000  of  which  were 
contributed  by  England. 


THE  STAG  AND  THE  BRAMBLE. 

A     FABLE. 

Wi-ittcn  by  John  Taylor,  Esq. 
When  Spring  around  her  odours  threw, 
And  Zephyr  roved  o'er  glistening  dew, 
A  stag,  \v4u)  heard  the  yelping  pack. 
And  thought  them  just  upon  his  back. 
Flew,  like  the  wind,  o'er  hill  and  dale; 
But,  ah!  his  speed  could  nought  avail. 
For  nearer,  nearer,  came  his  foes, 
Each  track'd  him  with  a  sapient  nose — 
What  should  he  do,  in  this  dire  case. 
To  shun  the  barking,  biting  race? 
The  "  A«zVy/oo/*,"  to 'scape  the  scramble. 
His  antlers  push'd  vvithin  a  bramble. 
Thinking,  in  shelter  of  that  screen. 
His  body  then  would  not  be  seen. 
Alas!  the  hounds  were  on  Ins  haunches, 
The  bush  he  found  but  hid  his  branches ; 
Too  weak  to  turn  and  stand  at  bay, 
He  straight  became  an  ea-sy  prey. 
Thus  if  comparison  may  suit 
Betwixt  a  rogue  and  silly  brute — 
It  may — for  'tis  a  certain  rule, 
That  ev'ry  villain  is  a  fool. 
Who,  thouiih  of  wisdom  he  may  bras:, 
IS  quite  as  silly  as  the  stag. 
Thus  then  a  rogue,  alias  a  fool, 
OldifJatan's  Hupe  at  once  and  tool, 

*  >- *'  the  liaii  y  fool, 

'*  ,JVI»icl>  luarkcd  of  the  nielaiicKolv  Jaqucs.*' 
, .  ,4*  You  Like  It. 


If  he  should  find  some  fawning  friends; 
Who  flatter  all  his  private  ends^ 
Some  whOj  perchance,  his  gains  may  share. 
Anil  aid  him  in  each  venal  snare; 
Some  who,  uiiskili'd  the  heart  to  scan. 
May  deem  the  rogue  an  honest  man; 
Some,  not  in  morals  over-nice, 
Who  fancy  genius  shines  in  vice. 
May  fondlv  think  he  lies  perdue 
Among  this  sneaking,  sorilid  crew: 
For  well  he  knows,  on  open  ground 
His  knaveries  woidd  soon  be  found; 
Yet  hopes,  amid  this  shallow  band. 
His  character  may  safely  stand. 

But  Infamy  will  track  the  flight 
Of  him  who  grasps  another's  right; 
Siill  follow  him,  or  low  or  high, 
With  Uetestalion'»  Ime  and  cry. 

Though  some  who  join  the  chace  may 

halt; 
And  some,  perchance,  may  be  at  fault. 
While  others  ramble  from  their  bent; 
They  yet  possess  a  moral  scent, 
And  soon  the  fooli>h  rogue  will  find. 
He's  hunted  down  by  all  mankind. 

Referring  to  the  s'ag  once  more. 
Poor  fool!  ihy  ilea'h  v\e  mav  deplore; 
For  the-e  must  Pity  heave  a  sigh: 
i  While  rogues  without  regret  should  die; 
For  they  provoke  the  world's  pursuit. 
And  justly  falls  the  human  brute. 


186 


POETRY. 


FAIIiY  SCENES. 

From  The  Akrial  Ismcs,  or  The  Visiuns  of 

MaLcolm . 

^Tis  merriment  all !   in  tlie  calm  simmer 

glow, 
The  moon  is  up  on  the  mountain's  brow. 
And  the   fays  glide  down  through  the 

misly  linn, 
Ani  the  fairy  raid  shall  soon  begin; 
For  now  comes  on  tise  evening  shade. 
And  revelry  of  the  moonlight  glade. 
The  elfin  children  the  welkm  leave, 
Nae  mairo'er  the  sky  their  bright  looms 

weave  ; 
But  roam  o'er  the  highland  hills  together, 
To  sip   the    dew    (rum    the    blooming 

heather. 
And  ';ee,  while  fades  the  jjlow  of  even. 
Dazzling,  unfuM  the  portals  of  heaven; 
Whe.e  ihe  lovely  race  of  yon  azure 

sheen, 
Array'd  in  vesmre  of  vivid  green. 
Comedown  to  enjoy  the  romantic  scene. 
Oh !  'tis  a  lovely,  enchanting  sight, 
As  they  merrily  stream  in  the  pale  moon- 
light, 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  where  the  moon- 
beams glint. 
And  mouiiiains   glowing   with   many  a 

tint! 
Fair  on  the  snow-topt-summit  they  gleam. 
Bright  as  the  dew  in  the  morning  beam, 
When  sparkling  from  a  rose-bud  gay. 
It  catches  the  first  bright  dawn  of  da\'. 
And  on  the  outline,  broken  and  rude, 
Of  that  mriuntainou?:  solitude. 
Where  Alpine  crags,  dark  and  uneven. 
Mix  with  the  dazzling  sheen  of  heaven; 
A  concourse  vast,  in  romantic  shew. 
Sparkling  and  fair,  move  on  to  and  fro. 
But  the  niuon-beam  falls  on  the  dewy 

heiih. 
And  they  dart  gaily  down  to  the  vallev 
beneath. 
There  'tis  a  beauteous  spot  to  see. 
When  the  moon  climbs  o'er  the  heights 

nf  Dee; 
There  mingles  with  the  still  evening  gale, 
The  scent  of  the  violet  and  primrose  pale. 


The  lily's  perfume,  and  the  sweet  breath 
Of  the  harebell  on  the  dewy  heath; 
While  hung  from  the  rugged  impending 

rock, 
And  circling  round  the  lofty  oak, 
The  wild  rose  clings,  vomantic  and  fair. 
Weaving  many  a  garland  there. 

That  wild  rose  aroops  in  the  valley  at 

even, 
Nae  longer  expat uls  to  the  warm  dew  of 

heaven; 
That  lily  shuts  its  white  bosom  there. 
And  the  harebell  closes  its  tendrils  fair; 
While  o'er  the  mountain  and  silent  deep. 
The  zephyr  has  sigh'd  itself  t&  sleep. 
But  a  still  small  whisper  breaks  on  the 

ear. 
In  accents  sweet,  to  the  fancy  dear; 
Whilst  o'er  the  dew-bespangitid  ground 
An  unusual  fragrance  is  breathing  around : 
And,  see!  a  sigiit  of  increasing  wonder. 
The  tlow'ry  germs  are  bursting  asunder ; 
S'.iddfn  they  open  their  blossoms  fair. 
And  many  an  elfin  shape  is  there; 
Array'd  in  vest  of  the  brightest  green. 
And  sparkling  like  the  stars  of  e'en. 
Oh!   'tis  a  lovely  vision  to  view 
Midst  flowers  of  sae  sweet,  sae  bonnie  a 

hue; 
Their  tiny  forms,  all  glittering,  seem 
Like  the  dew  condens'd  in  the  morning 

beam. 
Whilst  their  little  features  mair  beauty 

display 
Than  the  blush  of  Aurora  at  dawn  of  day. 
And,  hark!  from  a  ro.se-bud  blooming 

near, 
Heaven-born  melody  breaks  on  the  ear, 
In  cadence  sweet,  as  when  through  the 

sky 
The  evening  zephyr  is  whispering  by- 
And,  see  !  as  rises  that  elfin  strain, 
Thiise  lovely  forms  leave  the  flow'ry  plain. 
And  rang'd  in  ringlets,  sparkling  and  fair, 
Thridde  the  calm  maze  of  the  evening  air. 
Skimming  along  right  merrily, 
Over  the  snow-topt  summits  of  Dee. 


L.  Harrison,  PiiiUer,  373,  Strand. 


^l 


THE 


3S.ejpo6it0rp 


OF 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  S^c, 

THE    SECOND    SERiES. 


Vol.  II. 


October  1,  1816. 


IN^  X. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

1.  A    ViCAR.AGE-HoUSE        ...... 

2.  Pakt  of  the  RijIns  of  the  Savoy  in   1816 

3.  Ladies'   Half  Duess    ...... 

4. Ball  Dress  .  .         .  .         . 

5.  MoNA  Marble  Chimney-Piece  ... 

6.  Pattern   iou  Neeull-Wouk. 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

187 
21 G 
24-0 
2+1 
243 


FIXE  ARTS. 

Artliilectmal  Hints  — A  VicarMge-House 
— Obseivations  <»n  tlic  Diy-Rot  in 
BiiiUliii^s 

AicliiUctinal  Rtview. —  «tn  the  Atlvnii- 
ta«;es  of  <Mf(fii'g  a  iJritisli  Hoyal  Pa- 
lai'c — Si.  M;uv  ic  lione  Niw  (  Imrcli 

Cliroiioloijical  Sill  vt-N  oftlic  nio.st  iiiiiiirnt 

,  .Artists  to  tWu  C'oiMiiciirf iiioiit  of  il.e 
JSixtoeiith  (ti)tiiiv. — S'culplois;  Ait- 
lUs  ill  Mo.'iaic  ;  P;i,iit(rs;  PerioJ  iii 
wliith  t\u  y  tlinii  ishcd  ;  |ji  iiicipal  \V<nks 
iiiid  iMirits        

'J  HE   DOM F. STIC    COMMON- 
PL  AC  i:-]}OOK. 

Mcllind  of  .Asci  11  t:iiiiii!{r  tlic  I'm  ity  of  .Sul- 
plmr,  rliitflly  uiili  rtganl  to  Arsenic  — 
Prcpaiatioii  of  Scciil-liags,  lo  picsfive 
Clollies  frocii  heiiig  iajuied  by  .Mollis, 
&c. —  Huii^,.iiau  AIlIIioU  of  inakina- 
Briad  uitb.oiit  Vcast  —  Kul:  s  for  ascer- 
lainiiig  ihr  SIhu^iIi  of  .Materials  — 
Lcoiioii'.ital  Melliod  of  makiiij;  i'lie- 
Balls  for  Fuel — iMcllioti  of  pieparaig 
Carmine  an«l  Cotlii  leal  Lake— Eisy 
IMttliod  of  taking  liiijiicssions  of  Ma- 
mis(ii|i(s — Singular  Mflliod  of  copy- 
ing Pu  lures.  :iii.l  oilur  Objects,  by  the 
climiical  Action  ot  Li;,'bt        .... 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 
AND  ANECDOTES.      .  ;„ 

Account  of  Czcroi  George      .     .     .     ^,. 

MISCELLANIES.     '    " 

Cdiuila,  or  ih(   Wishes  :  a  Talt      .     .     . 

Tlie  Faithful  Servant 

Account  ol  ibe.Savny 

The  Fashiouaiilc  .Match  Maker;   a  Tale 
The  Female  T^Uler. — No.  X 

MUMCAL  REVIEW. 
Li.M.EY's  s^liakspcaie's  Dramatic  Sod?3 


J  87 


lf)0 


194 


19« 


^'f4 

fio7 
21U 


R,  \\.  W.'s  The  Rural  Wclrome  to  Bos- 

'Flill 

RiKs's  "  Ainanti  Costaiifi" 

KamvIIUE.v.n  Kit's  Grand  .Sonata  for  the 

Piano!  oric 

DANNKLtv's  "  How  gi.ilv  (o  Hamlet  and 

Hill" '. 

Stevf.vson's  The  Cot  iii  ilie  Vale     .     . 
llowEi.i/s  Lessons  in  ali  the  .Major  and 

iM  inor  Keys 

RiMJiAUi.TS   The   Shxc-Cohurg   March 

and  Waltz ■      .      .      .     . 

Mozart's    Graml    Oviiltire 

to  Idomeneo 

KiRins  liilroUuttion,i.c.  for  the  Piano- 

Foile 

BuRuoWEs's   Fourth  An  lur  ihe  Piauo- 

Foi  to 

Droiet's  Three  Waltzes  for  the  Flute 
The  Tyroli.m  A;r       .      .      .      . 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Conflagration  of  Moicow,  fl^lmJAM^.b'^^ 

Travela 

Aiiventuics  of  a  Gre<k  Laf'.y,   fioniTLi.- 
l^\'^  Narrative  oj  (I  fiesitkiac  ut  Tiipoli 

FASHIONS. 

Lr.dics'Half  Dress 

Bali  Dress 


2as 


>30 

I*. 


ib. 

'J3I 

ib. 

■  ii>. 
ib. 
ib. 

233 
236 

24  1 


General  Observations  011  Fashion  and 
Dress        . 

Fashionable  Furniture. —  IVJona  Marble 
C.liimney-Piece 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC    .... 

POETRY. 

Waterloo   ". 

Kefleclions 

Dialogue    between    a   Passcii^cr   ami    a 

Turtle 

223  ii  Epigram  on  the  Stati-.e  of  Vmus 


lb. 
243 

244 


L    Harrison,  I'ljnter,  ^73,  Strnnd. 


fTTT  T 


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ruiuui 


A  Vl€^'^Jh>^'i.(GaE      MOIUSIE 


THE 


3^epos^itorj> 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  ^c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


October  1,  1816. 


N«-  X. 


FINE  ARIS. 


ARCHITECTURAL    HINTS. 

PLATE    19. — A    VICAKAGE-HOUSE. 


The  annexed  design  was  in- 
tended for  the  residence  of  a  cler- 
gyman, and  purposed  to  be  erected 
in  a  situation  where  the  scenery  is 


is  devoted  to  its  duties,  and  also 
leads  the  spectator  very  naturally 
fronn  contemplating  the  dwelling, 
to  regard  the  pious  character  of  its 


both  rural  and  romantic,  and  well     inhabitant.  Thisassociation  hasoc- 
disposed  to  accord  with  the  style  j  curred  to  a  poet,  whose  works  in- 


of  building  which  may  be  consi- 
dered as  peculiarly  ecclesiastic, 
from  the  extensive  patronage  that 
architecture  once  received  by  the 
munificence    of    church    ecovern- 


deed  are  nearly  obsolete,  but  which 
will  always  be  admired  for  taste 
and  feeling,  and  is  thus  expressed 
by  him  : — 

"  That  simple  dwelling  slieltei'd  by  ibc  wooil, 


ment.       The    parts    of     this    design    )  As  courling  now,  now  shunnitig  solitude, 

were  selected  from  the  church  it- 
self to  which  the  vicara":e-house 
belongs,  and  with  which  it  would 
correctly  assimilate,  j)articularly 
as  the  building  was  intended  to 
be  placed  in  its  imn^icdiate  neigh- 
bourhood. The  practice  of  de- 
signing the  residence  of  a  clergy- 
man with  reference  to  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  church  to  which  it 

belongs,  where  the  style  of  archi-  |[  

lecture  is  favourable  to  such  selcc-  ||  observations    on  the  dry-rot 
tions,  is  desirable,  not  only  as  re-  I  in   buildings. 

lates  to  a  tasteful  advantage,  but  The  decay  of  iiml)er,  which  is 
as  it  becomes  another  and  visible  ,,  effected  by  a  more  speedy  sejjara- 
link  of  connection  between  the  ;,  tion  of  its  particles  than  usually 
church  itself  and  the  pastor  who  |j  proceeds  from  the  operation  of  wet 
I'ol  II.  No.  X.  it  C  c 


W  ilU  Gothic  windows,  and  uith  o|icii  porch. 

In  forms  related  to  its  luighbonring  church, 

i«ceinii;n;  less  niodern  than  of  happier  age, 

Half  hid  l)y  ivy — is  tlie  parsoncjrc. 

Its  pious  tenant,  vuginsj  fast  in  years. 

In  grave  but  nnaft'eeted  cuisc  appears, 

And  blest  witli  health,  for  fifty  years  have  shed 

No  silver  marks  of  Folly  on  his  head  : 

I'or  though  Time's   hand,  with   leady  haste, 

bestows 
The  reverend  furrow  and  the  whitening' snows- 
Folly,  more  forward,  l.-ivishly  supplies 
All  the  nuich-honour'd  emblems  tf  the  wise." 


188 


OBSERVATIONS   ON    THE    DRY-ROT   IN    liUILDlNGS. 


or^  damp,  is  sometimes  termed  the 
Dry  .Rot,  in  contradistinction  mere- 
ly, and  without  reference,  to  tliat 
decay  which  may  properly  be 
termed  a  disease,  and  which  is 
communicable  from  the  unsound 
to  the  healtliful  timber  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  which  decay  is  sim- 
ply one  of  the  means  of  decompos- 
ing vegetable  bodies,  which  nature 
has  provided  for  the  purposes  of 
reproduction.  In  fact,  the  dry-rot 
in  timber  is  that  fermentation  and 
consequentcorruption  of  its  juices, 
which  all  vegetable,  as  well  as  ani- 
mal, substances  are  subject  to  after 
death,  and  which  is  promoted  by 
the  suitableness  of  the  situation  in 
which  it  is  placed.  During  this  ef- 
fort of  nature  towards  decomposi- 
tion, the  fixed  air,  which  forms  the 
cohesive  principle,  is  liberated,  and 
in  a  short  time  the  particles  of  the 
timber  are  so  separated  from  each 
other,  that  tlie  whole  is  easily  re- 
ducible to  a  fine  powder.  Fer- 
mentation must  necessarily  ensue 
when  timber,  in  its  green  or  unsea- 
soned state,  is  placed  in  situations 
where  its  humidity  cannot  escape 
sufficiently  fast,  and  where  that 
certain  degree  of  heat  is  afforded 
to  it  wliich  is  essentially  necessary, 
and  connected  with  all  vegetable 
fermentation.  Under  similar  cir- 
cumstances, the  vegetable  products 
of  our  gardens  and  fields  would 
proceed  to  decay ;  to  prevent  which, 
the  gardener  and  the  husbandman 
expose  their  herbs  cut  for  preser- 
T^ation,  or  grass  cut  for  hay,  to  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  wliich,  if  sufficient- 
ly powerful  to  extract  the  humidi- 
ty from  the  objects  of  their  care, 
are  preserved,  and  at  any  time  are 
fit  for  use,  provided  they  are  siill 
tept  free  from  improper  humidity : 


but  if  they  are  not  so  dried,  and 
are  allowed  to  remain  in  confined 
situations,  or  heaped  in  (piantities, 
a  fermentation  and  corruption  take 
place,  that  speedily  destroy  them  : 
and  this  natural  operation  is  the 
same  with  timber.  The  corruption 
of  the  juices  of  wood  affords  also  a 
suitable  nourishment  to  that  class 
of  vegetables  termed  Cryptogamia^ 
of  the  order  of  Fungi.  These  may 
be  said  to  be  truly  parricidal,  as 
they  devour  and  exist  upon  the 
connecting  quality  of  the  timber 
whence  they  spring,  communicat- 
ing with  and  destroying  the  sound 
timber  to  which  they  may  reach  in 
their  rapid  growth;  and  the  fun- 
gi are  nourished  by  that  due  pro- 
portion of  heat  and  moisture  which 
is  proper  to  effect  fermentation ; 
and  these,  in  conjunction,  form  that 
climax  of  the  disease  which  is  usu- 
ally denominated  the  dry-rot :  al- 
though it  frequently  exists,  and 
with  as  much  danger  to  the  mate- 
rial, without  the  appearances  of 
fungi. 

From  the  slow  progress  the  fun- 
gus makes  in  very  wet  situations, 
it  appears  that  excessive  damps 
are  inimical  to  it;  for  its  growth  is 
more  rupid  in  proportion  as  the  si- 
tuation is  less  damp,  until  arrived 
at  that  certain  degree  of  moisture 
u'hich  is  alone  suited  to  its  produc- 
tion and  vegetation.  When  further 
extended  to  dry  situations,  its  ef- 
fects are  more  rapidly  destructive 
of  the  timber  on  which  it  subsists  : 
here  it  is  very  fibrous,  and  in  part 
is  covered  with  alight  brown  mem- 
brane, perfectly,  soft  and  smooth. 
It  is  often  of  great  magnitude,  pro- 
jecting from  the  timber  in  a  "white 
spongious  excrescence,  on  the  sur- 
face of  which  a  profuse  humidity 


OBSERVATIONS    ON    THF.    DRY-ROT    IN    HUILDINOS. 


189 


is  frequently  observed ;  at  other 
times  it  consists  only  of  a  fibrous 
and  tliin-coated  web,  spreading  ir- 
regularly on  the  surface  of  the 
wood.  Excrescences  of  a  fungi- 
form appearance  are  often  pro- 
truded amidst  those  already  de- 
scribed, and  are  evidences  of  a  very 
corrupt  matter  peculiar  to  the  spots 
whence  they  spring.  According 
to  the  situation  and  matter  in  which 
the}'  are  produced,  they  are  dry 
and  tough,  or  wet,  soft,  and  fleshy, 
sometimes  arising  in  several  fun<i[i- 
forms,  one  above  another,  with- 
out any  distinction  of  stem;  and 
when  the  matter  is  differently  cor- 
rupted, it  not  unfrequenily  gene- 
rates the  small  acrid  mushroom. 

Under  these  various  appearances 
the  fungus  spreatls  itself  on  the 
surface  of  the  timber,  and  becomes 
attached  by  innumerable  small  and 
almost  imperceptible  fibres  or 
tubes,  by  which  it  imbibes  the  sta- 
mina, and  occasions  the  decompo- 
sition of  the  wood :  the  branches 
will  insinuate  themselves  throuirh 
walls  of  very  considerable  thick- 
ness, and  communicate  the  disease 
to  the  opposite  side.  On  opening 
the  bricks  of  walls  which  have  ap- 
peared perfectly  sound,  the  vege- 
table has  been  discovered  passing 
through  them  in  fibrous  roots ;  and, 
from  this  subtle  disposition,  has 
iistjally  been  discovered  before  the 
substantial  parts  have  been  so  far 
decayed  as  to  endanger  the  edifice. 

From  whatever  substance  this 
vegetable  springs,  when  once  at- 
tached to  the  wood,  it  rapidly 
spreads  around:  each  ramification, 
no  longer  dependant  on  the  stem 
for  sustenance,  takes  fresh  hold, 
and  supplies  itself  with  nourish- 
weut  until  the  whole  of  the  part  it 


occupies  is  entirely  decomposed. 
Before  this  vegetable  has  time  to 
destroy  the  girders  and  other  prin- 
cipal timbers,  it  usually  penetrates 
behind  the  skirtings,  d;uloes,  and 
waitiscotings,  and  is  known  to  those 
acquainted  with  its  effects, by  draw- 
ing inward  the  edges  of  the  boards, 
and  by  splitting  them,  both  hori- 
zontally and  vertically.  W  hen  the 
fungus  is  taken  off,  they  exhibit 
an  appearance  similar,  both  in  back 
and  front,  to  wood  which  is  consi- 
derably charred:  a  light  pressure 
with  the  hand  will  break  them  asun- 
der, even  though  aiVected  with  the 
rot  but  a  short  time  ;  and  on  taking 
down  the  wainscot,  the  fibrous  and 
thin-coated  fungus  will  generally 
be  seen  closely  attached  to  the  de- 
caying wood. 

The  dry-rot  being  thus  consider- 
ed as  the  consequence  of  vegetable 
putrefaction,  aided  by  a  due  pro- 
portion of  heat  and  moisture,  it  will 
appear  that  the  disease  may  be  pro- 
duced in  some  parts  of  buildings 
even  where  timber  is  not  present, 
whence  it  may  spread  to  and  de- 
stroy the  wood-work,  although  con- 
siderably removed  from  the  source 
of  the  evil,  and  otherwise  sound, 
well-seasoned,  and  capa!)le  of  long 
duration;  for  the  ground  on  which 
we  build  is  often  replete  with  vege- 
table matter,  the  clay  with  such  as 
the  rains  have  conveyed  into  the 
fissures  of  it,  and  the  loamy  soil 
with  fibrous  roots  and  decajMng 
leaves.  If  the  building  at  the 
foundation  or  under-ground  story 
is  so  constructed  as  to  be  favour- 
able to  produce  fermentation,  by 
affording  proper  heat  and  moi- 
sture, the  ])ropagation  of  the  fungi 
necessarily  succeeds  to  the  corrup- 
tion, and  forms  the  vital  part  of  the 
C  c5 


190 


ON    THE   ADVANTAGES    OF    ERECTING   A    BRITISH    ROYAL  PALACE* 


disease.  As  mortar  is  often  com- 
posed of  a  mixture  of  roatl-sand 
and  lime,  the  former  containing  in 
it  a  large  portion  of  soil  peculiarly 
well  suited  to  the  germination  of 
fungi,  the  building  is  subjected  to 
the  dry-rot  from  that  circumstance; 
and  drains,  cesspools,  and  even 
wells,  will  occasionally  supply  the 
matter  that  generates  the  disease, 
and  support  it  also,  until  nourished 
to  extraordinary  vigour,  by  the  cor- 
rupt vapour  that  arises  from  them. 
The  foundations  of  our  houses  also 
are  too  frequently  receptacles  for 


drainage  water,  which  becomes 
stagnant  in  the  trenches  in  which 
they  are  laid,  and  from  which  cor- 
rupt exhalations  arise  capable  of 
producing  the  disease,  if  the  tem- 
perature of  the  place  combines 
with  it.  But  whatever  be  the 
appearance,  or  whencesoever  it 
springs,  the  causes  of  the  diy-rot 
will  be  found  to  be,  or  to  proceed 
from,  th.e  corruption  of  the  timber 
itself,  or  some  other  vegetable  pu- 
trescence. I.  B.  P. 
(  To  be  continued.) 


ARCmTjLCTU 

;  ,  •  U-v    !.,^        No. 

The  favours  of  several  corre- 
spondents are  too  extended  for  in- 
sertion in  this  paper,  although,  in 
other  respects,  well  suited  to  its 
object,  and,  from  their  merit,  de- 
serving particular  regard.  An 
abridgment  of  them  would  perhaps 
occasion  the  loss  of  valuable  mat- 
ter; they  are  therefore  omitted  at 
present :  but  if  the  several  authors 
will  take  upon  themselves  the  task 
of  abbreviation,  their  communica- 
tions shall  be  received  with  due  at- 
tention. In  the  mean  time,  B.  B.  is 
^informed,  that  his  letter  shall  ap- 
pear in  our  next,  and  we  hasten  to 
fulfil  a  duty  to  our  friend  Peram- 
bulator. 

ON    THE   ADVANTAGES    OF    ERECT- 
ING   A    DRITISH    ROYAL    PALACE. 

Sir, — So  fav  from  agreeing  with 
those  persons  who  are  daily  and 
querulously  complaining  of  the 
Prince  Regent  and  the  government 
of  the  country  for  their  encourage- 
ment of  building,  I  fervently  wish 
that  they  were  enabled  to  expend 
?: large  sum  upon  building  a  palace 


RAL    REVIEW. 
IX. 

suitable  to  the  high  rank  of  the 
country,  and  in  decorating  it  with 
splendour.  Such  a  palace  is  not 
only  a  desideratum  as  a  proper  ap- 
pendage to  royalty,  but  it  would 
induce  the  rich  to  spend  their  mo- 
ney liberally,  and  thereby  promote 
internal  commerce:  for,  notwith- 
standing the  prefcailing  and  gloomy 
declamations  of  impending  ruin, 
there  are  thousands,  nay,  tens  of 
thousands,  of  wealthy  persons  in 
England,  whose  surplus  means 
would  be  well  employed  in  imitat- 
ing such  an  example,  and  by  that 
expenditure  contribute  their  part 
to  prevent  it.  Certainly  this  has 
been  done,  in  some  degree,  by 
making  Carlton-House  an  exam- 
ple of  all  that  the  taste  of  the 
country  could  produce,  according 
to  the  limited — comparatively  li- 
mited— means  that  can  be  applied 
to  so  desirable  a  purpose.  And  this 
proposed  palace  should  be  accom- 
panied by  a  court  of  corresponding 
splendour ;  for  it  is  in  a  court  alone 
that  fashions,  fruitful  of  such  ad'. 


ST.    MARV    LE    BONE    NliW    ClILUCJI. 


191 


vantages,  can  be  expected  to  origi- 
nate; and  such  is  its  influence,  that 
each  change  of  mode,  in  all  its 
branches,  is  adopted  by  all  who  can 
atford  to  impose  upon  themselves 
such  a  voluntary  expenditure. 
,  Suppose  a  palace  should  he  pro- 
jected that  would  require  tiie  sum 
even  uf  three  millions  to  complete 
with  all  its  internal  decorations  anil 
furniture,  and  that  it  s!)ould  take 
six  years  in  erecting  ;  the  sum 
chargcal)le  upon  the  j)ublic  would 
be  half  a  niillion  annually,  collect- 
ed from  several  millions  of  inha- 
bitants: the  share  then  imposed 
upon  an  individual  holding  a  re- 
spectable rank,  would  amount  to  no 
more  than  seven  shillings  each  year. 
Now,  sir,  supposing  these  data  to 
be  granted,  and  considering  that  a 
vast  niunber  of  persons  would  be 
employed  in  erecting,  decorating, 
and  furnishing  this  palace,  every 
article  being  of  British  manufac- 
ture, and  the  exampde  of  such  a 
])alace  causing  the  rich  to  iitiprove 
their  residences,  by  which  many 
hundred  thousand  pounds  would 
1)0  expended  annually,  aiTording 
thereby  encouragement  to  the  in- 
genious, and  bread  to  the  industri- 
ous, would  any  one,  I  ask,  possess- 
ing means  of  comfort — not  to  say- 
luxuries — and  being  satisfied  of 
these  results,  murmur  at  paying 
qusirterly  for  six  years  the  small 
sum  of  oneshilling  and  nine-pencei 
Bonaparte,  perceiving  that  foreign 
commerce  was  not  attainable  for 
France,  wisely  emieavoured  to  cul- 
tivate internal  commerce  by  simi- 
lar means  :  hence  he  erected  splen- 
did public  works,  and  encouraged 
taste  in  everv  branch  of  the  arts. 
This  it  was  that  induced  him  to 
make  the  Louvre  the  grand  repo- 


|j  sitorv  ol  w(jiks  of  line  art,  which, 
j  had  it  remained  entire,  would  have 
attracted  visitors  frouj  every  part 
of  the  world  ;  even  now  France, 
huud)led  as  she  is,  is  allowed  to 
give  the  law  ir)  taste  and  set  the 
lashion  to  the  English  people. 

PEIIAMBULATOK. 


ST.  MAUY  i.r-;  bonp:  ni:vv  ciiurcii. 
The  plan  of  this  church  is  de- 
signed after  the  manner  of  the  an- 
cient temples,  which  were  usually 
of  a  parallelogram  or  oblong  li- 
gure;  its  chief  entrance  is  embel- 
lished by  an  hexastyle  portico  of 
the  Corinthian  order,  the  entabla- 
ture of  which  is  continued  on  eve- 
ry front  of  the  building.  At  the 
end  of  the  cella,  or  body  of  the 
church,  there  are  projecting  ajjart- 
ments,  formed  diagonally,  and  af- 
fording rather  a  novel  accommoda- 
tion for  the  wealthy  inhabitants  of 
the  parish.  The  very  ancient  cus- 
tom inChristian  countries  of  placing 
the  entrance  to  the  west,  and  con- 
j  sequently  the  opposite  end,  ajjpro 
priated  to  the  communion-table,  to 
I  the  east,  has,  in  this  instance,  been 
violated,  and  not  without  a  great 
sacrifice  of  architectural  beauty, 
j  that  will  be  lamented  by  every  man 
of  tast,e  so  long  as  the  church  re- 
I  tains  a  vestige  of  its  portico;  which, 
j  however  elegantly  beautiful  in  form 
I  and  arrangement — and  what  por- 
tico is  not  so,  tliat  is  jutliciously 
composed  iVom  the  fine  authorities 
of  ancient  architecture  ? — must  al- 
ways fail  to  delight,  because  there 
is  a  total  absence  of  that  brilliant 
and  diversifying  combination  of 
liiJ[hi  and  shade  w  liich  it  oujiht  to 
have,  and  has  not,  by  being  placed 
to  the  northward.  In  this  aspect  a 
portico  loses  aKo  much  of  jts  fit- 


192 


ST.    MARY    LE    BOI^E   NEW   CHURCH. 


ness,  being  originally  rather  in- 
tended as  a  protection  from  the 
rays  of  the  sun  than  from  wind  or 
rain:  and  here  it  is  nevervisited  by 
its  beams  in  the  winter;  and  even 
in  summer  the  beauties  arising 
from  reflected  liglu,  vvhicli  the  in- 
terior of  a  portico  receives  in  every 
other  aspect,  is  here  obtained  but 
in  a  very  hmited  dei^ree  :  thus,  in- 
stead of  delighting  by  varied  ef- 
fects of  light,  a  picturesque  display 
of  sliadow,  and  beautifully  modi- 
fied reflected  tints,  a  portico,  so 
situated,  becomes  statelily  sepul- 
chral, gloomy,  cold,  damp,  and 
cheerless.  One  document  of  anti- 
quity certainly  presents  an  exam- 
])\e  of  a  portico  so  situated,  but  this 
is  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  original- 
ly, perhaps,  a  temple  dedicated  to 
fire  and  the  sun,  and  its  entrance 
so  placed,  from  some  obvious  rea- 
son, suitable  to  the  tenets  of  the  su- 
perstition. The  portico  was  sub- 
sequently added,  but  the  first  ap- 
proach retained  ;  and  although  the 
great  beauty  of  this  portico  is  ac- 
knowledged, that  it  is  so  situated 
has  always  been  lamented,  not- 
withstanding the  portico  projects 
considerably,  and  the  building  is 
circular,  both  circumstances  great- 
ly in  its  favour.  The  error  in  plac- 
ing the  church  of  St.  Mary  le  Bone 
in  this  position,  originated  in  the 
endeavour  to  thrust  a  large  build- 
ing into  a  piece  of  ground  in  all 
respects  very  inadequate  to  the 
object  in  view:  a  spot  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  road  would  have 
given  a  proper  aspect,  greater 
space,  and  being  considerablymore 
elevated,  would  have  rendered  this 
church  doubly  ornamental  to  the 
metropolis  and  honourable  to  the 
parish. 


In  the  design  of  this  clinrch  the 
Roman  style  of  order  is  mixed  with 
some  Italian  peculiarities,  and  the 
whole  combined  with  reference  to 
Grecian  taste:  in  fact,  it  appears 
to  have  been  the  endeavour  of  the 
architect  to  unite  in  this  building, 
intended  to  form  a  dignified  whole, 
whatever  might  be  usefully  adopt- 
ed from  the  various  ages  and  coun- 
tries of  systematized  architecture ; 
and,  under  the  circumstances  of  the 
alteration  that  took  place,  by  which 
the  building  was  increased  from  a 
chapel  to  an  edifice  of  superior 
magnitude  and  character,  it  was  a 
difficult  task  to  unite  the  parts  in 
such  a  way  that  the  combination 
should  be  complete:  this  is  not 
quite  so  perfect  as  could  be  wish- 
ed, but  perha{)s  is  more  so  than 
might  have  been  expected.  In 
building  a  Christian  church,  the 
architect,  from  long -established 
custom,  is  obliged  to  contend  with 
a  difficulty  arising  from  the  absurd 
practice  of  appending  a  steeple  to 
it.  The  steeple  formed  no  part  of 
the  Greek  or  Roman  temple,  the 
prevailing  lines  of  which  are  hori- 
zontal; but  that  of  the  steeple  is 
a  vertical  one,  which,  however 
suited  to  its  early  and  original  style 
of  architecture,  and  to  the  later 
forms  of  the  Gothic  character,  in 
which  such  lines  prevail,  is  most  in- 
auspiciousto  thedesign  ofaGrecian 
edifice:  for  in  it  the  great  transom, 
or  entablature  above  the  columns, 
assuminfr  to  be  the  leading  line  of 
the  composition,  the  abrupt  and 
vertical  one  of  the  steeple  must  al- 
ways be  in  discord  with  it;  and  if 
the  architect  attempts  in  his  design 
to  make  the  steeple  itself  conform 
to  the  laws  of  Grecian  art,  the  trans- 
verse lines  of  the  various  entablar 


ST.    MARY    LE    BONE    NEW    CHURCH. 


103 


tures,  cornices,  and   imposts,  de- 
stroy its  lineal  harmony. 

Domes,  towers,  spirus,  steeples, 
and  turrets  are,  however,  the  ehief 
ornaments  ol  u  city  when  viewed 
aiadistance ;  withoutthem, "Beau- 
tiful Florence"  would  be  unnoticed 
by  the  traveller,  and  London  and 
Paris  would  appear,  as  we  ap- 
proached them,  little  better  than 
smoking  assemblages  of  dirty  ware- 
houses. 

It  is  to  be  wished,  that  the  cir- 
.cumstance  first  alluded  to  had  not 
occasioned  the  want  of  proportion 
evident    in     the    steeple    of    this 
thurcli;     it   is    too  small    for    the 
buildinjjj,  and  unfitted  to  its  por- 
tico :  had  the  basement  been  larger, 
and  connected   with  the  beautiful  ' 
circular  temple  by  a  circular  ca-  | 
vetto,  similar  to  that  of  the  lanthorn  j 
of  Demosthenes  at  Athens,  as  re-  * 
presented  by   Stuart,  the  contour 
would  have  been  easier  in  its  de-  i 
parture  from  the  square  to  the  cir- 
cle, and  the  bases  of  the  columns 
would  not  have  been  hid  as  they 
are  at  present,  unless  the  spectator  t 
be  at  a  very  considerable  distance. 
The   intention   of   coiitinuinjx  the 
vertical  lines  of  the  small  columns 
by  means  of  the  figures  above,  is 
good,    but   the   eflfect   necessarily 
fails  from  the   number  of  statues 
being   diminished,   by  which    cir- 
cumstance the  lines  are  rather  car- 
ried   outwards  than  conducted  to 
the  apex  of  the  dome,  where  they 
should  always  tend,  and  then  wil- 
lingly unite.     On  the  subject  of 


applying  caryatides,  or  figures  in 
similar  situations,  much  has  been 
said  and  written  by  authors  both 
in  favour  of  and  against  them ; 
therefore,  as  a  matter  of  fitness, 
different  opinions  will  be  enter- 
tained: but  it  becomes  the  duty  of 
the  archite^  to  consider  the  pro- 
priety of  adopting  them,  from  the 
circumstance  of  their  appearing 
too  small  and  insignificant  if  they 
are  not  very  much  larger  than  life, 
and  also  from  the  well-known  fact 
of  their  diminishing,  by  compari- 
son, every  thing  connected  with 
them  if  they  are  so. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  difficul- 
ties that  circumstances  and  vacil- 
lating resolutions  have  presented, 
this  church  is  a  very  magnificent 
building,  creditable  to  the  archi- 
tect, and  a  splendid  ornament  to 
the  north-west  of  the  metropolis. 
At  some  future  time,  perhaps,  the 
interior  of  the  church  may  be  the 
subject  of  a  few  remarks  in  this 
paper;  at  present  our  limited  space 
will  not  permit  it  further  than  to 
observe,  that  it  is  of  a  novel  ar- 
rangement, that  the  ceiling  is  hand- 
some, and  that  the  church  contains 
an  organ  of  very  extensive  com- 
pass, being  from  i  ¥F  to  F  in  alt, 
with  a  swell  as  low  as  C  in  the  bass. 
The  diapasons  and  pedal-jiipes  are 
unusually  grand,  and  the  trumpet- 
stop  has  its  full  effect,  without  the 
predominancy  too  common  in 
church  organs.  It  was  built  by 
Gray,  and  it  is  understood  that  Mr. 
C.  Wesley  is  appointed  organist. 


194 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF   THE    MOST    EMINENT  ARTISTS  TO 
THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 

C Continued  from  p.  13k^ 


SCULPTORS  ;  PERIOD  IN  WHICH 
THEY  FLOURISHED;  PRINCIPAL 
WORKS   AND    MERITS. 

Antonio  Filaketi,  of  Florence,  1430. 
A  metal  gate  to  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome. 

ALEssANDRoLEOPARDo,oi"Venic'e,  14-30. 
-  Many  works  at  Venice.     He  assisted 
in  the  equestrian  statue  oT  Bartolorneo 
Coleoni. 

Paolo  Romano,  of  Rome,  1430.  The 
twelve  Apostles,  in  silver,  for  the  Ca- 
pella  Papale  at  Rome.  An  equestrian 
statue  in  the  same  city. 

Jacopo  della  Q.UEUCIA,  of  Siena,  1430. 
Model  for  the  gates  to  S.  Giovanni 
Battista,  at  Florence,  in  competition 
with  Ghiberti. 

BuoNACOiiso  Ghiberti,  of  Florence, 
1440.  The  ornaments  for  the  bronze 
gates  to  S.  Giovanni  Baitista,  made  by 
his  father.  He  was  distinguished  for 
his  exquisite  taste  in  ornaments  in 
bronze. 

NiccoLO,  of  Arezzo,  14t0.  Mode!  for 
the  gates  of  S.  Giovaimi  Battista  at 
Florence,  in  competition  with  Ghi- 
berti. 

Vellano,  of  Padua,  1450.  Bronze  sta- 
tue of  Pope  Paul  II.  at  Perugia.  Se- 
veral other  statues  and  basso  relievos 
nt  Padua,  especially  in  the  church  of 
S.  Antonio  there. 

Bertoldo,  of  Venice,^  1450.  Several 
admirable  statues  in  bronze,  smaller 
than  life,  and  many  beautiful  basso 
relievos  in  bronze  at  Florence. 

Partigiam,  of  Fiesole,  1450.  Several 
statues  and  ornaments  in  the  church  of 
the  Serviles  at  Florence. 

Michele  MicHELOzzOjof  Venice,  1450. 
S'.atue  of  Religion  for  the  monument 
of  Giovanni  Coscia,  in  the  church  of  S. 
Giovanni  Battista  at  Florence.  A  St. 
John  in  the  same  place.  Several  good 
basso  relievos  there. 


Pietro  da  Como,  of  Como,  1450.  Va- 
rious works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Lorenzo  Canozio,  of  Padua,  1450. 
Many  works  in  wood,  marble,  and 
bronze,  at  Padua,  especially  in  the 
church  of  St.  Anihony  in  that  city. 

Verocchio,  of  Florence,  1450.  Many 
works  in  bronze  and  silver,  especially 
at  Venice.  This  artist  was  the  first  of 
the  moderns  that  began  to  model  in 
plaster  from  nature,  by  which  means 
he  gave  great  truth  to  the  subjects 
which  he  treated. 

Ursino  Cerajuolo,  of  Florence,  1450. 
Many  statues  in  wax,  which  he  co- 
loured with  oil  colours,  at  Florence, 
particularly  in  the  church  of  the  Ser- 
vites. 

Ma TTEoPASTAjofVerona,  1450.  Works 
at  Rimini,  for  the  hou>c  of  Malaiesia. 

Matted  Civitali,  of  Lucca,  1450. 
Adam  and  Eve,  Zacharias,  Elizabeth, 
and  two  pnipliet.<,  in  the  chapel  of  S. 
Giovanni  in  the  cathedral  of  Genoa. 
St.  Sebastian,  the  statues  for  the  altar 
of  S.  ReguUis,  and  a  great  part  of  the 
statues  about  the  church  of  S.  Michael 
at  Lucca.  He  displayed  profound 
sensibility  and  dignity  in  style  and 
execution,  and  was  the  greatest  Chris- 
tian sculptor  prior  to  Michael  Angelo. 

Studenti,  of  Modena,  1450.  Bronze 
casts  of  statues. 

AntonioFiorentino,  of  Florence,  1460, 
Statue  of  Pope  Pius  II.  on  the  Ponto 
Mollc,  at  Rome.  Many  works  at  Ve- 
rona. A  bronze  equestrian  statue  of 
the  Duca  Borso  di  Ferrara,  at  Ferrara, 

Angelo  del  Fiore,  of  Naples,  1460. 
Many  tombs  at  Naples. 

Richard  Aertsz,  of  Wyck  am  Meer,  in 
Holland,  1460.  Two  basso  relievos 
for  the  altar  of  a  church  at  Harlefli. 
Many  ornaments. 

AiVDREA  CicciONE,  of  Naples,    1460. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OP  EMINEiN'T  ARTISTS  IN  MOSAIC. 


195 


Tonih  of  Queen  Margaret,  and  lonib 
nlKing  Ladislans,  at  Sulcniu. 
NiccoLA  dell'  Akca,  of  Bologna,  1460. 
He  finished  the  sarcophai^ns  of  S.  l)o- 
menico  at  Bologna,  begun  by  Niccola 
da  Pisa. 
BahtolommeoCortelmno,  of  Bologna. 
He  assisted  in  the  sartojjliagus  of  S. 
Domenico. 
Andrea  Contucci,  called  Sansovino, 
of  Monte  Sansovino  in  Tuscany,  1480. 
St.  John  Baptist,  in  marble,  a  Bacchus, 
and  several  other  works,  at  Horence. 
Two  monuments  in  S.  Maria  del  Po- 
polo,  at  Rome.    Several  statues  at  Lo- 
reto,  Assisi,  Siena,  and  in  Portiij;al. 
Jacopo   CozzEiiELLO,    of  Siciia,    1480. 
Many  statues   and   basso  relievos  in 
churches  and  convents  at  and  about 
Siena. 
Francesco  di  Stefano,  of  Siena,  1480. 

Works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvitto. 
ViTO  DI  Marco,  of  Italy,  1480.  Works 

in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 
Luca,  of  Italy,  1480.     Works  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Orvieto. 
Vitus  Stoss,  of  Cracow,  1480.     Many 
crucifixes  and  statues  of  saints  at  Nurn- 
berg,  Cracow,  Posen,  and  Warsaw. 
Andrea    Ferrl'cci,    of  Fiesole,    1480. 
Many  works  at  Pistoja,  Volterra,  Flo- 
rence, Naples,  and  lor  several  towns 
of  Hungary. 
Gerolamo  Genga,  of    Urbino,    1500. 
Many    works   at    Urbino,    Florence, 
Mantua,  Siena,  and  Hotne. 
Albert  Diireh,  of  Nvirnberg.     Admi- 
rable crucifixes,  and  u  great  quantity 
of  smaller  works  in  wood  arul  ivory. 
Michael  Anuf  lo  Buonauotti,  of  Flo- 
rence,  1 520.     Bacchus  at  I'lorence  ; 
Cnpid.     Moses  in  S.  Pictro  in  Vincu- 
lisatRonie.  David  at  Florence.  Head 
of  a  F'aun  in  the  gallery  of  Ilcix^nce. 
Battle  between  Hercules  ami  the  Cen- 
taurs.    A  Madonna,     Basso  relievos. 
A  Hercules.    Crucifixes  in  wood.    Fi- 
gures for  the  shrine  of  St.  Dominic  at 
Bologna.    A  sleeping  Cupid.   A  Pieia 
in  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome.  Tomb  uf  Pope 
f'ol  II.    No.  X. 


Julius  II.  Statue  of  the  same  pope  at 
Bologin.  Christ  in  the  Minerva — l?e- 
sides  many  other  works.  His  style 
was  original,  j^rand,  and  formed  from 
the  study  of  the  antique  and  of  nature. 
His  works  were  remarkable  for  bold- 
ness, and  for  the  precision  with  \\  hich 
the  muscular  movements  were  ex- 
pressed. 

Peter  Fischlu,  of  Niirnberg,  1.520. 
The  admirable  monument  of  St.  Se- 
baldns,  in  the  church  of  that  name  at 
Ni.il  iiberg,  in  bronze.  Vai ions  works, 
in  bronze,  in  Bohemia  and  Hungary. 
His  style  was  grand  and  noble,  found- 
ed on  the  s'udy  of  nature  and  the  an- 
tique, and  his  execution  exteilent. 

Melciiioh  Bayr,  of  Niirnbt-rg,  1520. 
Many  works,  in  silver  and  bronze,  at 
Niirnberg  and  Augsburg. 

Tasso,  of  Fhuence,  1520.  The  altar- 
piece,  of  mat  ble,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Clara  at  Fh-rence.  Statue  of  St.  Se- 
bastian, of  wood,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Ambrose,  in  the  same  city. 

Tatti,  of  Florence,  1520.  First  cast  of 
the  Laocoon,  in  bronze.  Many  sta- 
tues, in  bronze  and  marble,  at  Venice, 
Rome,  Padua,  Florence,  and  other  ci- 
ties of  Italy. 


ARTISTS  IN  MOSAIC. 
The  artists  here  named  as  work- 
ers in  mosaic  were  all  masters  by 
profession, and  confined  themselves 
wholly  to  that  branch  of  the  arts: 
but,  besides  their  produciiotis,  ma- 
ny mosaics  were  in  those  times  ex- 
ecuted hv  painters  and  sculptors. 
Amonii  tlie  former  are  included 
Giotto;  Gaddo  Gaddi ;  Fra  Jaco- 
po di  Turrita,  who  assisted  in  de- 
corating the  chapel  of  the  high 
altar  in  the  Lateran  at  Rome,  and 
theprincipal  pulpitin  thecaihedral 
of  Pisa;   Vicino,  of  Florence,  who 

I  executed  the  iinag;e  of  the  Madon- 
na in  the  principal   pulpit  of  the 

i  cathedral  of  Pisa ;  and  many  others. 
D  D 


196    CHRONOLOGICAL  SUilVEY  OF  tHE  MOST  EMINENT  PAINTERS?. 


To  the  latter  belongs,  besides  Pie- 
tro  Cavallini,  who  is  mentioned  be- 
low, Giovanni  da  Pisa,  who  exe- 
cuted himself  the  beautiful  mosaic 
work  for  his  altar-piece  at  Arezzo. 

ApoLLONius,  of  Greece,  1250.  Many 
work-!  in  the  church  of  St.  Mark  at 
Venice,  where  several  other  Greek 
artists  were  emploj'ed.  Wcirks  in  the 
BcUiisterio  «)f  S.  Giovanni  in  Florence. 

Andrea  Tafj, -of  Florence,  1270.  A  co- 
lossal Christ  in  the  Battisterio  of  S. 
Giovanni  at  Florence,  and  other  small 
works  there. 

Antonio  Tafi,  of  Florence,  1300.  Va- 
rious works  in  several  churches  and 
convents  in  Florence. 

Gervino,  of  Spolelo,  1320.  Various 
works  at  Spoleto,  Perugia,  and  Siena, 
but  especially  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 

Andrea,  of  St.  Miniato,  1320.  Works 
at  St.  Miniato,  and  in  the  cathedral  of 
Orvieto. 

Lapo,  of  Florence,  1320.  Works  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto,  and  at  Florence. 

Ugolino,  of  Florence,  1320.  Works  in 
the  cathedral  of  Orvieto,  in  several 
convents  in  Tuscany  and  in  the  Eccle- 
siastical States. 

CoRso  Di  DoMENico,  of  Orviclo,  1320. 
Works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto, 

PiETRo  Cavallini,  of  Rome.  1320.  The 
ship  of  Giotto  in  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome. 
The  facade  of  S.  Paolo  without  the 
city.  The  fafade  of  S.  Maria  inTras- 
tevere,  at  Rome.  The  original  draw- 
ing of  the  ship  by  Giotto  is  in  the  con- 
vent of  the  Capuchins  at  Rome. 

CoNsiGLio,  of  Monle  Leone,  1320. 
Works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Ghino,  of  MoiUe  Leone,  1520.  Works 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Cola,  of  Monle  Leone,  1 320.  Works  in 
the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Scaglione,  of  Assisi,  1320.  Many 
works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto,  at 
Assisi,, Loreto,  and  other  places. 

Angioletto,  of  Giibbio,  1320.     Works 


in  various  churches  at  Rome,  in  the 
Ecclesiastical  States,  and  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto. 

BoNNiNi,  of  Perugia,  134-0.  Many  works 
at  Perugia,  ai>d  in  the  cathedral  of 
Orvieto. 

AngeLijccio  Landi,  of  Rome,  1340. 
Various  works  at  Rome,  and  in  the  ca- 
thedial  of  Orvieto. 

Andrea  Landi,  of  Rome,  13*0.  Various 
works  at  Rome,  at  Siena,  and  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Nello  Jacopini,  of  Rome,  131-0.  Va- 
rious works  at  Rome,  and  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Orvieto. 

Andrea  Cione,  of  F'iorence,  1360. 
Many  works  at  Florence,  and  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

TiNO  DI  BiAGio,  of  Assisi,  1360.  Many 
works  at  Assisi,  Spoleto,  and  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Niccola  o'Andrea,  of  Rome,  1360. 
Various  works  at  Rome,  and  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Orvieto. 

Matted  Cione,  of  Florence,  1360. 
Many  works  at  Florence,  Siena,  Pisa, 
Lucca,  and  in  the  cathed  ral  of  Orvieto. 

Matteo  da  Bologna,  of  Bologna,  I  360. 
Various  works  at  Bologna,  and  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Lorenzo  nl  Casale,  of  Casale,  1360. 
Some  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 

Ambrogio,  of  Florence,  1370.  Many 
works  at  Florence,  and  in  the  cathedral 
of  Orvieto, 

Francesco,  of  Florence,  1370.  Many 
works  at  Florence,  Pisa,  Lucca,  Siena, 
and  in  the  cathedral  Of  Orvieto. 

Lippo,  of  Florence,  1380.  Many  works 
at  Florence,  Lucca,  Assisi,  and  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvieto. 


PAINTERS. 
Giovanni  Cimabue,  of  Florence.  Born 
1240;  died  1300.  The  back  of  the 
altar  in  St.  Cecilia's.  A  Madonna  ia 
S.  Croce.  A  S.  Francesco.  A  Ma- 
donna, with  the  infant  Jesus  and  many 
angels,  upon  a  gold  ground,  now  iq 


CilRONOLOGICAL  SUUVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  PAlNTEIiS.     197 


tlie  gallery  at  Florence.     An  altar- 
piece  for  S.   Francesco  at  Pisa.     A 
Madonna,  a  S.  Agnesa,  and  a  Christ, 
at  the  same  place.    The  life  of  Christ, 
and  of  S.  Francesco,  at  Assisi.  Winks 
ill  S.  Spirito,  and  the  celebrated  i\Ia- 
donna  in  S.   iMaria  Novella  at  Flo- 
rence.    He  was  a  pupil  of  the  Greek 
masters  who  were  employed   in   tht: 
Capelle  de  Goniii  in  S.  Maria  Novclln, 
at  Florence.     He  executed  a  crucihx  i 
in  wood  for  S.  Croce  at  Florence,  and 
also  attempted  to  paint  in  fresco. 
Giotto,   of   Vespignano,    in    Tuscany. 
Born  1270;  died  1330.  Amiuiicialion 
of  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  chapel  of 
the  high  altar,  together  with  the  altar- 
piece  in  the  abbey  at  Florence.     A 
coron.ition  of  the  Madonna,  an  Annun- 
ciatioiij  and  the  life  of  St.  Francis,  in 
the  refectory  of  S.  Croce,  in  the  same 
city.     The  life  of  S.  Giovanni  Battista 
in  the  church  del   Carmine,  at  Flo- 
rence.    A  St.  Francis  at  Pisa.     Seve- 
ral paintings  in  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa.     Various   paintings  in   the  old 
church  of  St.  Peter  at  Rome.     Design 
for  the  ship  by  Giotto  in  St.  Peter's,  at 
Rome.     Various  works  in  the  Miner- 
va, in  that  city.      Various  works  at 
Ravenna,  Ferrara,  Arezzo,  Avignon, 
and  Urbino.     Portraits  of  Dante,  Bru- 
netto,  and  Clement  V.     He  was  a  pu- 
pil ofCimabue,  and  the  real  father  of 
modern  painting. 
BuoNAMU)  BuFi  ALMACco,  of  Florence, 
1300.     The  life  of  our  Saviour  in  the 
church  of  the  nunnery  of  Faenza,  at 
Florence.     Life  of  St.  James  in  the 
abbey   of   Settimo.     Paintings   in  S. 
Petronio,  at   Bologna,    at   Assi-i,    at 
Arezzo,  in  S.  Paolo  and  the  Campo 
Sauto  at  Pisa,  at  Cortona,  at  Perug'a, 
in  S.  Maria  Novella  at  Florence,  and  { 
in  other  churches  there  i 

OuERiGi  u'Agubbio,  of  Agubbio,  1300. 


ings  for  the  library  of  Pope  Benedict 
IX. 
Puccto  Capanna,  of  Florence,  13J0. 
Paintings  in  the  church  of  St.  Francis 
at  Assisi;  in  the  church  of  S.  Trinitd 
at  Florence;  in  that  of  St.  Francesco 
at  Pistoja,  and  in  the  church  of  S.  Do- 
meriico,  in  the  same  tow.i,  a  crucifix, 
a  Madonna,  and  a  S.  Giovanni.  Many 
other  works  at  Bologna  and  Florence. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Giotto. 
Duccio,  of  Siena,   1310.     Many  works 

at  Siena,  Florence,  Pisa,  and  Lucca. 
Giovanni    Bonnini,    of    Assisi,    1320. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 
Puccio,  ofGiibbio,  1320.    Many  works 

in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 
Gecco,  of  Gubbio,  1320.     Many  works 

in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 
FRANCEscoGiAcoMO,ofCamerino,  1320. 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 
'  Ottaviano  DA  Faenza,  of  Faenza,  1320. 
,      A  Madonna  over  the  gate  of  S.  I'ran- 
!      cesco  at  Faenza,     Many  works  in  S. 
Giorgio,    at  Ferrara,  at   Bologna,    at 
Faenza,  and  other  places. 
Lello,  of  Perugia,  1320.  Various  works 
at  Perugia,  and   in  the   cathedral  of 
Orvieto. 
Tad  DEO  Gaddi,  1320.     Many  woiks  in 
S.  Croce  at  Florence;   in  the  convent 
and  church  ci  S.  Spirito,  S.  Siefiino 
del  Pome  Vectlno,  the  Oratorio  di  S. 
Michele  in  Orto,  and  the  church  of 
the  Serviles,  in  the  i^ame  cfy.    Works 
in  fresco  at  Arezzo,  at  S.  Ago'-lino,  at 
Pisa,  and  in  the  Capitolo  of  S.  Maria 
Novella  at  Florence.     Next   to  Ste- 
fano,  he  was  the  most  eminent  of  the 
pupils  of  Giotto. 
Pace  de  Faenza,  of  Faenzn,  1320.  Va- 
rious works  j.t  Bologna  and  Faenza, 
and  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto.     He 
was  a  pupil  ot  CJiutlo. 


Many  admirable   miniatures  for   the  j  Simone  Memmi,  of  Siena,  1320.     Por- 
library  of  Pope  Benedict  IX.  at  Rome,  ]       trait  of  Petrarch's  Laura.  Many  works 
Franco  Bolognese,  of  Bologna,  1300.  !        at  Avignon,  at  Rome,  and  more  espe- 
Extremely  beautiful  miniature  paint-  !i       cialiy  in  the  palace  della  Signoria  at 

D  D  2 


198 


METHOD   OF  ASCERTAINING   THE   PURITY    OF  SULPHUR. 


Siena.  Many  works  in  S.  Maria  No- 
vella and  ill  tlie  caihedial  at  Flo- 
rence, and  in  the  Cam  po  Santo  at  Pisa. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Giotto,  and  excelled 
in  many  branches  uf  ihe  art. 
PiETUO  Lalrati,  of  Siena,  1320.  The 
Preseiitalion  in  the  Temple  on  tlie 
staircase  of  the  hospital  at  Siena.  Va 
rious  works  in  the  Cainpo  Santo  at 
Pisa.  A  Madonna,  with  angels,  in  S. 
Francc:co  at  Pistoja.  The  chapel  of 
the  hij;h  altar  in  the  chinch  della  Pieve 
at  Arezzo,  besides  several  other  pic- 

•  tures  tliere.  Many  works  at  Rome 
and  Curlona,  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Giotto. 

Ugolino,  of  Orvielo,  1320.  Many 
works  in  the  cathedral  of  Orvielo, 

GuGLiELMO  DA  FouLi,  of  Forli,  1320. 
The  chapel  of  the  high  altar  in  the 
church  of  S.  Domenico  at  Forli,  be- 
sides many  other  woiks  in  that  and 
neighbouring  towns.  He  was  a  pupil 
of  Giotto. 

SfEFANO,  of  Florence,   1320,     xAn  ex- 

•  (juisite  Madonna  in  the  Campo  Santo 


at  Pisa,  in  which  he  surpassed  hi* 
master,  Giotto,  both  in  design  and  co- 
louring. Works  in  the  convent  of  S. 
Spirilo  atFlorence,  for  which  he  paint- 
ed an  admirable  picture  of  the  Trans- 
figuration. Many  works  in  Ara  Coeli 
at  Rome,  St.  Peter's  at  Milan,  at  Pis- 
toja, and  other  towns  in  Italy-  He  was 
a  pupil  of  Giotto,  whom  he  excelled  in 
colouring  and  design ;  he  was  particu- 
larly distinguished  for  the  representa- 
tion of  the  naked  figure,  and  the  move- 
ment of  figures  under  draperies. 
PiETuo  Cavallini,  of  Rome,  1320. 
Many  works  at  Rome,  where  he  ex- 
ecuted in  mosaic  the  ship  of  St.  Peter, 
alter  the  drawings  of  Giottp.  Works, 
in  fresco,  in  Ara  Cccli,  S.  Maria  in 
Trastevere,  St.  Cecilia  in  Trastevere, 
and  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  Works  in  S. 
Marco  and  S.  Basilio  at  Florence.  A 
crucifixion  at  Assi^i  and  at  Orvielo. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Giotto,  and  of  dis- 
tinguished merit  in  fresco. 
(  To  be  continued.) 


THE  DOMESTIC  COMMONPLACE-BOOK; 

Qintuiiiinir  authentic  Receipts  and  miscellaneous  In/ornialion  in  every  Branch  of 
Domestic  Economy,  and  of  general  Utility. 


WLTHOn  or  ASCERTAINING  THE 
rUKlTY  OF  SULPHUR,  CHIEFLY 
WITH    REGAPD    TO    ARSENIC. 

The  sulphur  which  is  procured 
m  the  roasting  of  copper  ores  is 
apt  to  contain,  besides  earthy  im- 
purities, a  very  notable  portion  of 
arsenic;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  sulphur  ininorted  from  Sicily, 
in  particular,  is  free  from  tliis  con- 
tamination. As  this  article  forms 
one  of  those  remedies  which  are 
frequently  resorted  to  as  a  domes- 
tic medicine,  it  is  certainly  a  mat- 
ter of  some  importance  to  ascer- 
tain, in  an  easy  and  expeditious 
manner,  its  purity,  which  may  he 


Take  100  grains  of  the  sulphur 
to  be  examined ;  put  it  into  a  Flo- 
rence flask,  and  pour  over  it  about 
four  ounces  of  oil  of  turpentine; 
heat  the  mixture  over  a  l.iinp  till  it 
has  boiled  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
pour  the  solution,  whilst  hot,  into  a 
six  or  eight-ounce  vial,  stop  it  with 
a  cork,  and  shake  it  till  the  liquor 
has  cooled  down  to  the  tempera- 
ture of  the  hand.  It  will  now  be 
quite  turbid  with  sulphur  that  has 
separated  from  the  oil  during  cool- 
ing, and  being  filtered  throu5;;i  tow, 
placed  in  a  glass  funnel,  a  clear 
fluid  will  be  obtained.  This  being 
done,  transfer  the  oil  again  upon 


accomplished  by  the  following  pro-  ;j  the  sulphur  remaining  in  the  flask, 
cess:—  I  and  let  it  be  heated  and  filtered  a 


SCENT-BAGS   TO    PKKSIiKVE    CLOTHES    FROM    MOTHS. 


199 


secontl  time.  By  repeating  this 
operation  tour  or  five  times,  there 
will  be  left  only  a  brownish  orantje 
residue,  on  which  the  oil  refuses  to 
act  any  longer.  This  residue,  be- 
ing laid  on  a  piece  of  earthen-ware, 
is  to  be  exposed  to  a  heat  not  high- 
er than  that  of  melting  lead,  till  it 
ceases  to  exhale  any  sulphureous 
vapour  ;  being  then  rubbed  up 
with  a  little  n)oistened  charcoal, 
and  pressed  into  the  bowl  of  a  to  • 
bacco-pij)e,  or  any  other  conve- 
nient vessel,  it  is  to  be  heated 
nearly  red  hot,  upon  which  a  white 
vapour  will  arise,  and  shiew  itself 
to  be  arsenic  by  its  peculiar  garlic 
odour.  The  sulphur  precij)itated 
from  the  oil  of  turpentine  may  be 
entirely  freed  from  this  latter  by 
exposure  to  the  air  and  light  for  a 
day  or  two;  it  will  then  be  of  a 
beautiful  sparkling  yellow  colour, 
far  superior  to  that  of  common 
flowers  of  sulphur,  and  entirely  in- 
odorous. The  conmion  English 
sulphur,  or  roll  brimstone,  some- 
times contains  full  -^y  of  insoluble 
residue,  chiefly  composed  of  arse- 
nic. The  best  Sicilian  sulphur 
contains  hardly  more  than  three 
per  cent,  of  residue,  which  is  a  mix- 
ture of  different  kinds  of  earths : 
hence  it  affords  no  arsenical  odour 
when  heated  with  charcoal ;  and 
this  is  the  reason  of  the  universal 
preference  given  by  the  manufac- 
turers of  oil  of  vitriol,  or  sulphuric 
acid,  to  Sicilian  over  English  sul- 
phur. 


fras  wood  ;  reduce  these  substances 
to  a  coarse  jjowder,  sprinkle  thena 
over  with  a  few  drops  of  otto  of 
roses,  and  sew  them  up  in  a  coarse 
muslin  or  silken  bag.  These  bags, 
when  laid  in  the  wardrobe  among 
garments,  not  only  impart  to  them 
a  pleasant  scent,  l)ut  contribute 
also  to  preserve  the  clothes  from 
being  injured  by  moths  and  other 
insects. 


PREPARATION   OF    SCENT-BAGS,   TO 
PRESERVE  CLOTHES  FROM  BEING 
INJURED  BY  MOTHS,  &,C. 
Take  the  tops  of  rosemary,  la- 
vender, rose-leaves,  the  clippings 
of  cedar,  cassia  lignea,  and  sassa- 


HUNGARIAN  METHOD  OF  MAKING 
EXCELLENT  BREAD  WITHOUT 
YEAST. 

Lighter,  whiter,  and  better  fla- 
voured bread  than  that  made  at 
Debretzin,  in  Hungary,  is  seldom 
to  be  met  with;  and  as  this  bread 
is  made  without  yeast,  about  which 
such  a  hue  and  cry  is  often  raised, 
and  with  a  substitute  which  is  adi}' 
mass,  tliat  may  be  easily  preserved 
and  transported,  nay,  which  mav 
be  kept  six  months  or  more,  I 
deem  it  necessary  that  the  process 
should  be  more  known.  The  fer- 
ment is  thus  made  : — Two  handfuls 
of  hops  are  boiled  in  four  quarts  of 
water ;  this  is  poured  upon  as  much 
wheaten  bran  as  can  be  well  moist- 
ened by  it;  to  this  are  added  four 
or  live  pounds  of  leaven  ;  when  this 
is  only  warm,  the  mass  is  well 
worked  together  to  mix  the  differ- 
ent parts.  The  mass  is  then  put 
in  a  warm  place  for  twenty-four 
hours,  and  after  that  it  is  divided 
into  small  pieces,  about  the  size  of 
a  hen's  e^^  or  a  small  orange, 
which  are  dried  by  being  placed 
upon  aboard,  and  exposed  to  a  dry 
air,  but  not  to  the  sun  ;  when  dry 
tl'.ey  are  laid  by  for  use,  and  may 
be  kept  half  a  year.  This  is  tlic 
ferment,  which  may  be  used  in  the 
following  manner  :  —  Eor  baking  of 


200 


SUBSTITUTE   FOR   YEAST — STRENGTH   OF   MATERIALS. 


six  large  loaves  six  good  handfuls 
of  these  balls,  previously  broken 
into  pieces,  are  taken  (the  loaves 
measure  near  half  a  cubic  yard), 
and  dissolved  in  seven  or  eight 
quarts  of  warm  water.  This  is 
poured  through  a  sieve  into  one  end 
of  the  trough,  and  three  quarts 
more  of  warm  water  are  poured 
through  the  sieve  after  it,  and  what 
remains  in  the  sieve  is  well  pressed 
out.  This  liquor  is  mixed  up  with 
so  much  flour  as  to  form  a  mass  of 
the  size  of  a  large  loaf.  This  is 
strewed  over  with  flour;  the  sieve, 
with  its  contents,  is  put  upon  it, 
and  the  whole  is  covered  up  warm, 
and  left  till  it  has  risen  enough, 
and  its  surface  has  begun  to  crack ; 
this  forms  the  leaveu.  Then  fifteen 
quarts  of  warm  water,  in  which  six 
handfuls  of  salt  have  been  dissolv- 
ed, are  poured  through  the  sieve 
upon  it,  and  the  necessary  quan 


place  in  a  publication  devoted- f(> 
the  diffusion  of  useful  knowledge. 
Puty=the  direct  strength,  or  cohe- 
sive force  of  a  square  inch 
of  the  material ; 
h  =  the  breadth ; 
c=the  depth,  or  the  dimen- 
I  sion  in  the  direction  of  the 

{  pressure;  and 

j  /=the  length.     Then  the  la- 

I  teral  or  transverse  strength  of  a 

i  ,      ,  ^       .    f  b  d' 

rectangular  beam  or  bar,  is  •     .    . 

i  if    supported    at    one    end,    and 

I  ^fbdc  .,  J      u     .        , 

!  — ■:7~. ir  supported  at  both  ends. 

i        *^^ 

j      The  lateral  strength  of  a  square 

j  beam  or  bar,  when  its  diameter  is 

I  /"  d^ 

[  placed  vertically,  is '^^^j^    if    sup- 


f  d^ 
ported   at   one  end,    and     -rrr 


if 


supported   at  both  ends.     In    this 
case^is  ihediagonal.  Thestrength 

tity  of  flour  is  added,  and  mixed  ji  of  a  square  beam  is  least  when  the 

and  kneaded  with  the  leaven  :  this  ''  force  is  in  the  direction  of  the  dia- 

is  covered  up  warm,  and  left  for  l  gonal. 

about  one  hour.     It  is  then  formed  \\      The  lateral  strength  of  a  solid 


into  loaves,  which  are  kept  in  a  ii      i.     ,      ■    f  V  ^^ 

icvlinderis  

warm  room  half  an  hour,  and  after  Ij    •'^  4/ 

that  they  are  put  into  the  oven, 
where  they  remain  two  or  three 
hours,  according  to  the  size.  The 
great  advantage  of  this  ferment  is, 
that  it  maybe  made  in  great  quan- 
tities at  a  time,  and  kept  fit  for 
use.  Might  it  not,  on  this  account, 
be  useful  on  board  of  ships,  and 
likewise  for  armies  when  in  the 
field  ? 


RULES    FOR   ASCERTAINING   THE 

STRENGTH    OF    MATERIALS. 
The  following  rules  for  ascer- 
taining the  strength   of  materials 
being  new,  and  of  practical  utilit}-, 
it  is  presumed  they  are  worthy  of  a 


if  supported  at 


one  end,  and   ■'    ,        if  supported 

at  both  ends.     In  this  case  r  is  the 
radius,  and  ;?  =  3. 14159  &,c. 

The  lateral  strength  of  a  tube,  or 

hollow   cylinder,   is  . .    . 

if    supported     at    one    end,    and 

—^ — TT—. if  supported  at  both 

ends. 
The  lateral  strength  of  a  trian- 
05643/6  d^ 


gularbeam  or  bar,  is 


/ 


if    supported    at    one    end,    and 

.22572  f'b  d^   .,  ,       ,      . 
-j if  supported  at  both 

ends. 


METHOD    OF    MAKING    FIRE-BALLS    FOR    FUKL. 


201 


The  strength  of  a  solid  cylinder, 

pillar,  or  column,  to  resist  a  force 

ar-ting  in  the  direction  of  its  axis,  is 

8/"  /•♦       ,  .       , 

■z — -7'  wnere   e    is    the    extension 

be  l^ 

of  the  material  at  the  time  of  frac- 
ture. The  diameter  of  a  column 
may  be  so  great  in  proportion  to 
its  length,  that  a  less  force  than  that 


necessary  to  hend  it,  would  crash 
it.  The  force  necessary  to  crush  a 
homogeneous  solid  cylinder,  is 
8/>/\ 

If  the  rule  above  given  be  cor- 
rect, the  following  table  will  shew 
the  weight  that  would  break  or  crush 
cylinders  of  diflerent  kinds  of  ma- 
terials : — 


Materials. 

Direct  strength  of  a 
square  inch. 

VVeiglit  111  I1j8.   tliat 

will   (-rush    a  cyliii- 

<!cr  an  inch  in  dia- 

iiiftcr 

Utight  ill  lbs.  that 
will  criisli    a   cylin- 
der   whose    base   is 
one  foot  in  area. 

Cast  iron       .     .     . 

Lead 

Freestone      ,     .     . 
Fine  freestone 
Brifk 

lbs. 
50,000 

3,000 

1,000 

205 

280 

314,160 

18,849 

6,283 

1,288 

1,759 

57,600,000 

3,456,000 

1,152,000 

236,160 

322,260 

ECONOMICAL  METHOD    OF   MAKING 
FiRE-BALLS    FOR    FUEL. 

Take  a  ton  of  common  clay,  free 
from  stones,  add  to  this  from  seven 
to  eight  bushels  of  sifted  small- 
coal,  and  as  much  dung  (or  any 
other  vegetable  substance  that  can 
be  procured  at  a  cheap  rate,  for 
example,  the  exhausted  tanner's 
bark,)  as  will  work  with  the  clay 
into  a  homogeneous  mas.s.  Huvin<r 
done  this,  form  the  mass  into  such 
sized  balls  or  lumps  as  will  suit 
your  fire-grate.  In  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, where  the  peasants  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  advantages  of 
this  cheap  fuel,  the  size  of  the 
balls  is  usually  three  or  four  inches 
square;  though  they  may  be  made 
either  larger  or  sinaller,  according 
to  the  quantity  of  fire  required. 
When  the  mass  has  been  formed 
into  lumps  or  balls,  it  vvill  be  ne- 
cessary to  lay  thorn  in  a  shed  to  dry 
gradually  for  use,  for  they  then  burn 
much  better  than  when  newly  made 
and  still  wet.  But  in  case  you  are 
pbliged  to  use  them  inmiediately. 


it  is  very  proper  lo  lay  a  few  of 
the  balls  eitlur  beliind  or  near  the 
fire,  to  get  dry  speedily,  \\hen 
the  fire  Ijurns  clear,  place  some  of 
the  balls  in  the  front  of  the  grate, 
as  you  do  with  large  or  round  coals, 
when  the  advantages  of  these  fire- 
balls will  soon  become  evident,  for 
they  not  only  burn  exceeding  clear, 
without  much  smoke,  but  give  also 
a  more  lasting  heat  than  an  equal 
quantity  of  coals  would  afford. 
From  some  experiments  that  have 
been  made  in  this  meLro|)olis,  we 
are  authorised  to  state  the  followino- 
particulars. — The  charge  of  a  load 
of  clay  does  not  exceed  5s.  or  6s. ; 
the  labour  of  making  up  the  balls 
about  2s.  6d.  dung  25.  small-coal, 
called  slack,  worked  up  with  the 
claj-and  dung  (supposing  the  coals 
at  2s,  per  bushel,)  12s. :  and  thus 
it  appears  that  the  whole  cost  of 
making  up  a  ton  of  clay  will  not 
exceed  1/.  Is  ;  though  it  might  be 
easily  shewn  that  the  balls  thus 
produced  are  preferable  to, and  will 
do  much  more  service  than,  a  chal- 


202 


PREPARATION    OF   CARMINE  ANP  COCHINEAL   LAKE. 


dron  of  coals, — Those  who  are  in- 
clined to  make  use  ot"  this  econo- 
iTiical  fuel  are  to  take  notice,  that 
the  balls  are  not  to  be  laid  on  till 
the  fire  burns  clear  and  brisk. 


PREPARATION    OF    CARiMINE    AND 
COCHINEAL  LAKE. 

This  very  rich  vivid  crimson  co- 
lour, which  sfdiids  zce/l,  was  origi- 
nally prepared  from  an  insect  call- 
ed Kermes  (Coccus  Jiicis),  from 
which  it  takes  its  name;  but  is  now 
obtained  from  the  cochineal  insect, 
the  colouring  matter  of  which  is 
extracted,  and  chemically  combin- 
ed with  the  earth  of  alum  or  alu- 
mine.  It  is  best  prepared  in  the 
following  manner: — 

Into  a  14-gallon  boiler  of  well- 
tinned  copper,  put  10  gallons  of 
distilled  or  very  clear  rain-water; 
spring-water  will  not  do.  When 
the  water  boils,  sprinkle  in  by  de- 
grees 1  lb,  of  fine  cochineal,  pre- 
viously ground  in  a  clean  marble 
mortar  to  a  moderately  fine  pow- 
der; keep  up  a  slow  boiling  for 
about  half  an  hour,  and  then  add 
3^oz.  of  crystallized  super -car- 
bonate of  soda;  in  a  minute  or 
two  afterwards  draw  the  fire,  and 
add  to  the  liquor  l|oz,  of  alum, 
previously  finely  pulverized;  stir 
the  mass  with  a  clean  stick  till  the 
alum  is  dissolved;  then  leave  it  to 
settle  for  half  an  hour;  draw  off 
the  clear  liquor  with  a  glass  syphon, 
and  separate  the  sediment  from  the 
residue  by  straining  it  through  a 
close  linen  cloth.  Replace  the  clear 
liquor  in  the  boiler,  and  stir  in 
the  white  of  two  or  three  eggs,  pre- 
viously well  beaten  with  a  quart  of 
water:  then  light  the  fire  again. 
and  heat  the  liquor  till  it  begins  to 
boil,   at  which  time  the  albumen 


of  the  egg  will  coagulate  and  com- 
bine with  the  basis  or  earth  of  the 
alum  and  the  finest  part  of  the 
colouring  matter.  This  sediment 
is  carmine,  which  being  separa- 
ted by  filtration,  and  well  washed 
in  the  filter  with  distilled  water,  is 
to  be  spread  very  thin  on  an  earth- 
en plate,  and  slowly  dried  on  a 
stove,  after  which  it  is  ready  for 
use.  The  finest  part  of  the  co- 
louring matter  of  the  cochineal  be- 
ing thus  separated,  the  residue  is 
usually  employed  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  lake,  in  the  following  man- 
ner. 

Preparation  of  Cochineal  Lake. 

Add   2  lbs.   of  subcarbonate    of 
potash  to  the  red  liquor  from  which 
the  carmine  was  precipitated,  and 
return  it  into  the  boiler,  together 
with   the  dregs   of  the   cochineal, 
and  boil  the  whole  gently  for  about 
half  an   hour;  then  draw  the  fire, 
and  after  the  sediment  has  subsid- 
ed,  draw  off  all  the  clear  liquor 
into  clean    earthen-ware   vessels. 
Then   pour  upon  the  sediment  a 
second   alcaline  ley,  prepared  by 
dissolvinjz  1  lb.  of  subcarbonate  of 
potash   in    two   gallons  of  water, 
and  boil  this  also  upon  the  dregs 
for  half  an  hour,  by  which  process 
the  whole  of  tlie  colouring  matter 
will    be    extracted.      Separate   by 
filtration  the  liquor  from  the  dregs, 
and  return   both  the  alcaline  solu- 
tions into  the  boiler.     When  this 
bath  is  as  hot  as  the  hand  can  bear, 
add,   by  degrees,  3  lbs.  of  finely 
pulverized  alum;  observing  not  to 
add  a  second  portion  till  the  effer- 
vescence from  the  first  has  entirely 
subsided.     When  the  whole  of  the 
alum   has   been    put  in,  raise  the 
fire  till   the  liquor  simmers,   and 
continue  it  at  this  temperature  for 


METHOD    0F*(?6PYfK(i   l«IAM;^CfttPTS   AnV  PICTURES.  ^03 


al)OUt  five  minutes,  at  wliich  tiine 
if  a  little  is  taken  out  and  put  into 
a  wine-glass,  it  will  be  found  to 
consist  of  a  coloured  sediment  dif- 
fused tliroufrh  a  clear  fluid.  On 
suffering  the  mixture  to  stand  un- 
disturbed for  some  time,  the  great- 
est quantity  of  the  clear  fluid  may 
be  decanted,  and  the  residue  put 
on  a  fdter  will  then  deposit  the  co- 
loured lake,  which,  after  being  re- 
peatedly washed  with  clear  soft 
water,  must  be  covered  witli  a  cloth, 
anil  suft'ered  to  remain  for  a  few 
days  tili  it  is  half  dry,  after  which 
it  may  be  taken  from  the  filter, 
made  up  in  small  lumjis,  and  care- 
fully dried  on  a  stove.  In  this 
manner  1  lb.  of  the  best  cochineal 
afl'ords  rather  more  tiian  1  ^  oz.  of 
carmine,  and  l^lb.  of  red  lake. 

EASY  METHOD    OF  TAKING  IMPRES- 
SIONS   OF   MANUSCltlPTS. 

To  the  Editor. 

S lu, 1  have  lately  seen  the  fol- 
lowing process  for  copying  writing 
practised  by  a  friend  of  mine,  which 
1  think  deserves  to  be  made  more 
gejverally    known ;    you    therefore 
will  perhaps  have  the  goodness  to 
allow  it  a  corner  in  your  next  Repo- 
sitorif.    The  process  is  as  follows: — 
Put  a  little  sugar  into  your  writing- 
ink,  so  that  the  writing  made  with 
the  ink   will  remain   glutinous   or 
adhesive  to  the  fingers.     When  a 
copy  is  required,  take  some  unsized  1 
paper,    moisten   it  lightly    with  a 
sponge,  and  lay  it  upon  the  writing. 
Then  take  a  flat   iron,  such  as  is 
used    by    laundresses,    moderately 
heated,  and  press  it  gently  over  the 
iinsized  paper,  the  counter  -  proof 
or  copy  will   be  produced    imme- 
diately.     The   quantity  of    sugar 
roL  II.  No.  X. 


required  must  vary  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  ink  :  but  there  is  no 
difficultv  in  tiiuling  by  a  lew  trials 
the  requisirc  (pianiiiy  ;  for  the  ob- 
ject of  the  sugar  is  merely  to  [)re- 
vent  the  ink  Iron)  drying  rapidly. 
I  am,  wiih  respect,  your  constant 
reader, 

Fur-DERICK   Cl.AKK. 
Bermoiulsry,  Sept.  12,  ISUv 


SINGULAR  METHOD  OF  COPYING 
PICTURES,  AND  OTHER  OBJECTS, 
BY  THE  CHEMICAL  ACTION  OF 
LIGHT. 

Those  who  are  famdiar  with  che- 
mistry are  well  aware  of  the  singu- 
lar effect  of  light  upon  metallic 
solutions,  and  other  bodies  of  na- 
ture. An  ingenious  philosopher, 
Mr.  J.  Wedgwood,  availed  himself 
of  the  property  which  a  solution 
of  silver  in  nitric  acid  possesses, 
when  exposed  to  light  and  air,  for 
copying  ]iaintings  on  glass,  mak- 
ing profiles,  &c.  The  solutions  of 
this  metal,  it  is  well  known,  when 
applied  to  paper,  and  theti  exposed 
to  light,  become  speedily  blacken- 
ed. Therefore  if  we  cover  wliite 
paper  with  a  dilute  solution  of  ni- 
;  trate  of  silver,  and  place  it  behind 
\  a  painting  on  glass,  which  is  cx- 
i  posed  to  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun, 

the  rays  which  pass  through  will 
.  blacken  the  paper:  but  the  shades 

will  be  more  or  less  deep  in  pro- 
i  portion  to  the  intensity  of  the  light 

transmitted   through   the   different 

parts  of  the  glass.  When  the  glass 
j  is  perfectly  trans])arent,  and  con- 
i  sequently  allows  a  free  passage  to' 

the  rays  of  light,  the  paper  will 
j  become  quite  black  ;  where  the 
!  glass  is  perfectly  opaque,  and  where 
I  consequently  no  rays  can  pass,  the 
I  paper  remains  while ;  and  there 
E  E 


204 


ACCOUNT  OF  CZERNI  GEORGl. 


will  be  der^rees  of  the  intensity  of 
the  siiadow  of  every  variety  of  opa- 
city between  these  two  extremes. 
Pictures  thus  produced,  ahhougli 
they  are  not  sensibly  affected  by 
the  light  ol"  candles  and  lamps,  are 
soon  destroyed  by  the  light  of  day, 
which  causes  all  the  paper  to  be- 
con»e  black.  The}^  must  therefore 
be  kept  in  darkness  ;  and  they  may 
readily  be  preserved  by  being  plac- 
ed between  the  leaves  of  a  book, 
or  black  paper.  Besides  the  ap- 
plication of  this  property  which 
the  st;iar  light  exercises  upon  the 
solution  of  nitrate  of  silver  for  co- 
pying the  ligius  and  shadows  of 
paintings  on  glass,  it  may  be  ap- 
plied to  other  purposes.    By  means 


of  itdelineations  may  be  made  of  all 
such  objects  as  are  partly  opaque 
and  partly  transparent.  The  fibres 
of  leaves,  and  the  wings  of  insects, 
may  be  pretty  accurately  repre- 
sented by  this  process,  by  causing 
the  solar  rays  to  pass  through  them, 
upon  paper  impregnated  with  a 
solution  of  silver;  and  Sir  Hum- 
phrey Davy  has  found,  that  the 
images  of  minute  objects  produced 
by  means  of  the  solar  microsrope, 
may  be  copied  without  difficulty 
on  prepared  paper:  he  recom- 
mends one  part  of  dry  nitrate  of 
silver  dissolved  in  ten  parts  of  wa- 
ter; and  this  is  sufficient  to  enable 
the  paper  to  become  blackened, 
without  impairing  its  texture. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCPIES  AND  ANECDOTES. 

•->♦<■• 
ACCOUNT  OF  CZERNI  GEORGE. 


The  following  particulars  of 
Czerni  George,  who,  as  the  chief 
of  tlie  Servians,  some  j-ears  since 
attracted  a  considera!)le  portion  of 
the  public  attention  by  his  obstinate 
resistance  against  the  Turks,  are 
extracted  from  the  narrative  of  a 
Russian  officer,  who  was  the  bearer 
of  the  consecrated  oil  presented 
by  his  sovereign  for  the  use  of  the 
Servian  churches,  and  visited  Mol- 
davia, Wallachia,  and  Servia  in 
1808.  The  result  of  his  observa- 
tions was  published  at  Moscow  in 
18!  0. 

Czerni  George  was  born  in  the 
vicinity  of  Belgrade.  From  his 
earliest  years  he  cherished  an  irre- 
concileable  enmity  to  the  Turks, 
who  then  ruled  his  unfortunate 
country  with  an  iron  sceptre. 
"VVliile  yet  a  3-outh,  he  happened  to 


meet  a  Turk  who  imperiously  com- 
manded him  to  stand  out  of  his 
way,  at  the  same  time  threatening 
to  shoot  him  if  he  failed  to  comply. 
Czerni  George,  however,  prevent- 
ed tlie  execution  of  this  menace 
by  extending  the  Turk  lifeless  upon 
theground.  To  avoid  thedanger- 
ous  consequences  which  this  deed 
would  have  infallibly  drawn  upon 
him,  he  fled  to  Transylviania.  He 
was  then  eighteen  years  old,  en- 
tered into  the  Austrian  service,  and 
soon  became  a  subaltern  officer. 
Another  tragic  circumstance  com- 
pelled him  a  second  time  to  seek 
his  safety  in  flight.  His  captain 
was  about  to  punish  him  for  some 
fault  which  he  had  committed,  when 
he  killed  him  also,  and  immediate- 
ly hastened  back  to  his  native  coun- 
try.    Here  he  adopted  a  new  pro- 


ACCOUNT   OF   CZEHNI   GKORGE. 


20.5 


fession,  better  adapted  to  his  dis- 
position, and  became  the  chief  of 
a  band   of  robbers.     It  should  be 
observed,  that  in  Servia,  Albai)i;i, 
and  all  over  Greece,  bands  of  lual- 
conteiUs,    resilient   in    tiie    woods, 
wage  incessant  war  with  the  Turks, 
and  style  themselves  K>.t7rrxi,  that 
is,  thieves  or  robbers.    'I'hey  attack 
the  Turks  only,  and  are  considered 
by  the  Greek  peasants  as  heroes  and 
avengers,  and  received  in  triumph 
by  them  in  the  villages  where  there 
are  nol'urkish  inhabitants.     From 
his    haunts   iti   the  thickest  woods, 
Czcrni  George  often  fell  upon  the 
lurks   and   cut  otf  great  numbers 
of  them.     His  fury  spared  neither 
sex    nor    age.     Women,  children, 
and    the    aged    belonging    to    this 
detested   nation,  were  alike  sacri- 
ficed by  him.     The  Turks,  byway 
of  retaliation,  executed  twenty-six 
of    the     principal    Servians,    and 
among  the  rest  an  archimandrite, 
and  armed  a  considerable  force  for 
tiie  purpose  of  attacking  Czerni's 
hand  :  but  the  oppressed  Servians  j 
assembled  from  all  quarters  to  sup-  ij 
port  their  avenger.     His  aged  fa-  ! 
ther  alone,  who  had  hitlierto  been  || 
his  constant  companion,  now  for-  Ij 
sook   him,  with  severe  reproaches  ' 
for  the  cruelties  whicii  he  had  per-  -I 
petrated,    the   blood    of  so    many  || 
innocent  victims  which  he  had  shed, 
and  the  extreme  danger  into  wiiich 
lie  was  about  to  })lunge  his  conntrv  ; 
nay,  even  with  threats  that  he  would 
betray  him  and  all  his  associates  to 
tlie  Turks.      In    vain   did    C'zerni  i 
endeavour  to  dissuade  him  from  his  ji 
intentions  ;  he  set  off  and  took  the  jl 
direct  road   to   Belgrade.     Czerni  ' 
tollowcd   him,  antl  n)ade  a  last  at- 
tempt to  divert  him  from  his  pur- 
pose, but  finding  the  old  man   in- 


flexible, he  drew  forth  a  pistol, 
and  shot  the  author  of  his  own  life 
dead  upon  the  spot. 

The  contest  with  the  exasperated 
Turks  was  long  and  obstinate.  It 
was  difficult  for  the  leader  of  an 
undisciplined  banditti  to  overcome 
a  people  who  had  learned  the  art 
of  war  from  the  Europeans.  By 
degrees,  however,  the  Servians  also 
learned  to  conquer;  and  Czerni 
George,  encouraged  b3theadvan- 
taues  which  he  had  j^ained,  forsook 
his  inaccessible  forests,  laid  siege 
to  Belgrade,  and  by  his  persever- 
ing bravery  compelled  the  Turkish 
garrison  to  surrender  on  the  1st  of 
December,  1806.  Thus  did  a  man 
of  low  birth,  and  without  educatioi,, 
exalt  himself  inio  the  deliverer  of 
his  country  and  the  supreme  h.ead 
of  his  people. 

During  the  siege  of  Belgrade  a 
meeting  of  the  chief  nobility  and 
clergy  was  held  at  Semen dria,  and 
having  appointed  the  Arciibisliop 
of  Servia  th.eir  president,  they  took 
upon  themselves  the  government  of 
tl)e  country.  They  not  only  eon- 
stituted  themselves  the  ruling  })ov\- 
er  in  regrird  to  the  civil  admini- 
stration, but  designed  also  to  com- 
bine with  it  the  legislative  authority 
and  the  command  of  the  arin\  . 
No  sooner  was  Czerni  George  in- 
formed of  these  proceedings,  t!i;!n 
he  hastened  to  Semendria,  annulled 
the  resolutions  of  the  asseisddy, 
and  announced  in  a  proclnmntion, 
that  "so  long  as  Czerni  George 
shall  live,  no  person  shall  ]5resuuie 
to  exalt  himself  above  him,  as  lie 
alone  is  sullicient  and  wants  no  ad- 
viser." 

Since  this  empliatic  declaration 
he  has  governed  the  people  and  the 
senate   of   Belgrade    with    all    the 

i:  K  i 


506 


ACCOUNT  OF  CZERNI  GEORGE. 


authority  of  an  arbitrary  sovereign. 
As  an  instance  of  liis  despotism  I 
shall  mention  the  following  fact, 
communicated  to  me  by  M.  Ro- 
dophinikin,  counsellor  of  state. 
On  the  death  of  a  wealthy  Servian 
who  had  left  several  young  children, 
the  senate  very  humanely  deter- 
mined to  possess  themselves  of  his 
property,  M.  Ilodophinikin  re- 
Uionstrated  against  this  procedure. 
One  of  the  senators,  who  had  been 
at  Vienna,  asserted  that  he  had 
th.ere  witnessed  a  similar  circum- 
stance, as  a  stranger  had  of  his  own 
accord  assumed  the  management 
of  the  property  of  a  person  who  had 
died,  though  he  had  left  an  infant 
son.  M.  Rodophinikin  had  very 
great  trouble  to  make  the  senate 
comprehend,  that  this  stranger  was  a 
legal  guardian,  to  whom  theadmini- 
stration  of  the  property  was  entrust- 
ed only  during  the  minority  of  the 
lieir,  and  till  the  latter  was  capable 
of  taking  it  into  his  own  hands.  He 
painted  the  excessive  injustice  of 
such  a  confiscaiion  in  such  lively 
colours,  that  he  obtained  of  the 
assembly  an  unanimous  decree  in 
favour  of  the  heirs.  The  senate 
suddenly  received  a  letter  from 
Czerni  George,  who  was  then  at 
his  country-house,  above  50  miles 
from  Belgrade,  directing  that  all 
the  mills  belonging  to  the  deceased 
should  be  annexed  to  his  posses- 
sions. Vv  hat  more  could  the  be- 
nevolent advocate  of  the  orphans 
then  do  in  the  affair?  It  is  almost 
superfluous  to  observe,  tliat  the 
Servian  senate  punctually  obeved 
the  commands  of  Czerni  George, 
and  then  took  possession  themselves 
of  the  remainder  of  the  property. 
The  conduct  of  this  chieftain 
to  the   Pacha  of  Belgrade,   after 


the  reduction  of  that  fortress,  will 
serve  to  illustrate  the  extraordinary- 
hatred  that  he  bears  to  the  Turks. 
By  the  capitulation  the  pacha  had 
obtained  the  assurance,  that  he 
might  depart  freely  with  his  whole 
retinue,  and  travel  unmolested 
through  Servia.  An  escort  of  500 
Pandours  was  to  accompany  him 
to  the  frontiers,  and  to  protect  him 
from  insult  on  the  part  of  the  peo- 
ple. Czerni  George  gave  him  the 
most  solemn  asseveration,  that  he 
had  nothing  to  fear  in  his  passage 
through  Servia.  The  aged  pacha 
quitted  the  city  with  270  persons 
belonging  to  his  household,  and 
all  of  whom,  excepting  the  pacha 
himself  and  six  of  his  principal 
officers,  were  disarmed,  Scarcelv 
were  they  two  miles  from  Belgrade, 
when  the  Pandours  suddenly  drew 
their  sabres,  and  began  in  cold 
blood  to  slaughter  tliese  devoted 
victims.  The  pacha  and  his  six 
officers  made  an  heroic  resistance, 
cut  their  way  through  the  assassins, 
and  reached  a  cavern,  where  they 
were  overpowered,  but  not  till  they 
had  dis^patched  at  least  twice  the 
number  of  Servians.  On  the  same 
day  Czerni  George  issued  orders 
for  the  execution  of  the  forty  Turks 
who  had  remained  behind  at  Bel- 
grade. These  unfortunate  wretches 
sought  refuge  iti  a  hou'se,  where 
they  defended  themselves  with  the 
resolution  of  despair,  till  the  Ser- 
vians set  it  on  fire,  and  they  pe- 
rished in  the  flames.  A  Servian  of- 
ficer asked  Czerni  George  what  was 
to  be  done  with  the  women  belong- 
ing to  the  murdered  Turks.  "  Let 
them  starve!"  was  his  reply.  For- 
tunately all  the  Servians  are  not 
possessed  of  such  cruel  dispositions; 
one  of  them  pr.oposed  to  sell  these 


CELINDA,    OR    THK    WISHES:    A    TALF.. 


207 


wretched  females  to  the  Ausiriiiiis, 
and  liis  suggestion  was  adopted. 

It  would  require  volumes  to  de- 
tail all  the  cruelties  practised  l>y 
Czerui  George.  1  shall  therefore 
conclude  this  siihject  with  the  fol- 
lowing trait: — In  lb07  he  caused 
his  brother  to  he  hanged  for  some 
trifling  faults  which  he  had  com- 
mitted. 

Czerni  George  is  at  present  (1810) 
46  years  old  ;  tall  and  well  made. 
His  face  is  long,  hroader  below 
than  above,  his  eyes  are  small  and 
sunk  in  his  head;  he  has  a  sharp 
nose  and  brown  complexion.  He 
wears  very  small  mustachios.  His 
hair  is  tied  behind  into  a  tail  which 
reaches  all  down  his  back,  and  he 
turns  it  up  in  front,  which  makes 
his  forehead  ajjpear  uncommonly 
large.  His  dress  is  very  simple, 
dirtering  in  no  respect  from  that  of 
the  rustics,  except  in  a  pair  of 
pistols  and  a  dagger  which  he  con- 
stantly carries  with  him.  Hisclothes 
are  neither  elegant  nor  clean.  His 
ardent  and  vehement  spirit  is  dis- 
guised under  a  cold  and  unfeeling 
manner.  He  passes  whole  hours 
without  uttering  a  word  :  but  when- 
ever he  drinks  brandy,  he  always 
mutters  a  pra)  er.  He  can  neither 
read    nor  write.     It  is  to  his  per- 


sonal bravery  alone,  favoured  bv 
fortune,  ihat  he  owes  all  the  power 
and  fame  which  he  enjoys. 

He  has  two  sons  and  four  daugh- 
ters.  One  of  the  latter  is  married 
to  a  Servian  of  high  distinction. 
His  eldest  son,  Alexis,  now  fifteen 
years  old,  at  the  time  of  my  visit 
resided  with  M.  Rodophinikin,  and 
was  assiduously  engaged  in  learn- 
ing the  Russian  language.  His 
quickness  of  apprehension  is  not 
less  worthy  of  admiration  than  his 
corporeal  agility.  His  favourite 
amusement  is  to  kill  birds  by  throw- 
ing stones  at  them.  It  is  not  un- 
likely that  he  will  soon  imitate  his 
father,  and  make  war  upon  the 
Turks  instead  of  the  birds. 

Czerni  indulges  once  a  year  in 
the  chase,  in  which  he  is  accom- 
panied by  three  or  four  hundred 
Pandours.  The  whole  produce, 
consisting  of  wolves,  foxes,  wild 
goats,  and  deer,  is  publicly  sold  to 
the  best  bidder. 

His  real  name  is  George  Petro- 
witsch.  He  is  indebted  for  the 
surname  of  Czerui,  or  the  lilach, 
not  so  much  to  his  naturally  dark 
complexion,  as  to  the  anger  of  Ids 
mother,  who  gave  him  that  appel- 
lation when  he  made  her  a  widow 
by  the  n.uider  of  his  father. 


MISCELLANIES. 


CELINDA,  OR  THE  WISHES:  A  Tjle. 

The  youthful  Celinda  possessed  she  enjoyed.  Thou<^h  handsome, 
a  handsome  person,  a  good  under-  i  her  beauty  was  not  ot  that  striking 
standing,  and  an  excellent  heart,  |i  kind  which  challenges  admiration  ; 
yet  she  was  not  happy.  As  is  some-  ;  and  though  endowed  with  trood 
times  the  case,  she  set  a  greater  h  sense,  her  coldness  of  nianner,  and 
ralue  upon  the  blessings  she  did  wantof  natural  vivacity, ofienniade 
not  possess,  than  upon  those  which     her    listened    to   with   inaiteniior. : 


208 


CELINDA,    OR   THE    WISHES:    A   TALE. 


hence  she  frequently  saw  women, 
who  were  really  inferior  ro  herself, 
distinguished  in  society,  while  she 
was  overlooked  ;  and  this  often 
mortified  her.  One  evening,  when 
she  had  returned  in  worse  spirits 
than  usual  from  an  assembly  where 
she  had  been  totally  eclipsed  by  the 
beautiful  Bellaria,  while  she  sat  lost 
in  reverie,  site  was  surprised  at 
hearing  her  own  name  pronounced 
in  a  soft  voice,  and  looking  up,  she 
saw  at  her  side  a  lovely  female,  the 
charms  of  whose  countenance  were 
heightened  by  a  look  of  celestial 
benignity.  "  In  me,"  cried  she  to 
the  astonished  Celinda,  "  you  be- 
hold one  of  that  race  whom  the 
children  of  men  denominate  sylphs: 
our  office  is  to  protect  mortals  from 
the  machinations  of  the  evil  genii, 
and  to  each  of  us  is  assigned  the 
charge  of  a  human  being.  You, 
Celinda,  have,  from  your  birth, 
been  my  care:  I  see,  with  pain, 
languor  and  disappointment  de- 
stroy the  fair  [)romise  of  your  youth, 
and  I  come  to  restore  you  to  that 
cheerfulness  which  suits  the  pre- 
sent delightful  period  of  3-our  life. 
Beauty,  wit,  fortune,  are  before 
you  ;  chuse  from  among  them  that 
which  will  render  you  most  hapj)y, 
and  it  shall  be  yours  :  but  as  mor- 
tal judgment  must  be  fallible,  you 
will  have  permission  to  resign  what 
you  have  chosen,  if  at  the  end  of 
one  year  you  find  yourself  disap- 
pointed of  the  happiness  you  hoped 
it  would  bestow;  and  this  favour 
will  be  granted  to  you  three  times, 
but  the  third  trial  must  fix  your 
choice.  My  power  to  indulge  you 
will  then  be  at  an  end." 

Which  of  our  lovely  young  read- 
ers has  not  already  decided,  that 
liie  choice  of  Celinda  was  beauiy  ? 


The  sylph  breathing  on  her,  pro- 
nounced some  unintelligible  words, 
and  disappeared.  Celinda,  turn- 
ing to  a  mirror,  saw  -^  ith  delight  a 
visible  improvement  in  features 
which  were  before  lovely  ;  her  eyes 
sparkled  with  increased  lustre,  lier 
cheek,  naturally  pale,  now  glowed 
with  the  brightest  bloom,  and  the 
most  captivating  suules  played 
round  her  pretty  mouth  :  in  short, 
the  sylph  had  bestowed  upon  her 
that  bewitching  something,  for 
which,  as  we  cannot  express  it  in 
our  own  language,  we  have  bor- 
rowed the  French  term,  je  ne  sais 
quoi. 

for  a  short  time  Celinda  believ- 
ed that  tlie  sylph  had  bestowed 
upon  her  perfect  happiness;  wher- 
ever she  went  admiration  followed 
her,  and  her  young  conipanions 
stood  no  chance  of  being  noticed 
in  her  *)rcsence:  but  thouGfh  Cc- 
linda  was  tor  a  short  time  delitrht- 
ed  with  the  sensation  caused  by 
her  beauty,  her  heart  was  too  feel- 
ing to  be  long  occupied  by  the 
pleasures  of  vanity.  The  joys  of 
friendship  were  necessary  to  her 
existence,  and  amongst  the  crowd 
of  her  admirers  she  found  no 
friends;  her  beauty  had  alienated 
the  regard  of  her  female  acquaint- 
ance, and  there  was  not  one  of  her 
lovers  who  touched  her  heart. 
"  How  foolishly  have  I  judged," 
said  she  to  herself,  "in  snpjiosing 
that  admiration  could  bestow  hap- 
piness! it  gives  me  no  other  sen- 
sation th^u  ennui"  Her  ennui,  how- 
ever, was  not  of  long  duration  :  one 
of  her  female  friends,  named  iVIe- 
lissa,vexed  at  finding  herself  thrown 
into  the  shade  by  the  charms  of 
Celinda,  opposed  to  her  fascina- 
tions the  weapons  of  wit  and  ridi- 


CftLINDA,    OR    THE    WISHES:    A    TALE, 


209 


cule.  Melissa  was  not  [)ri  tty,  but 
she  iiad  an  intiiiite sliaic  ol  vivacity 
anJ  humour;  her  Ouiis-f/tots  uevvr 
failed  to  excite  a  smile,  and  siie 
soon  h^^'gaii  to  rol)  Celinda  of  some 
of  her  aJiiiirers,  A  professed  ri- 
valshij)  now  commenced  l)etween 
tlie  uit  ;t:>d  the  beauty.  Cehniia, 
who   had   tiiotioht  adnnration    not 


in  her  ideas,  a  new  world  seemed 
to  open  lo  her,  and  for  some  time 
she  might  be  said  to  rove  througli 
enchanted  regions.  .She  repealed 
exultingly  to  herself,  that  ^he  had 
iit  lengtli  found  true  hapi^iness; 
but  she  was  soon  compelled  to  al- 
low, that  even  the  pleasures  of  wit 
are   not   without    alloy:    the   bril- 


worth  her  noiitu:  vvhiie  she  was  sure  n  iianey  of  her  talents  quickly  made 


of  exciting  it,  now  made  ever}'  ef- 
fort to  gain  it:  slio  lavished  lier 
smiles  indiscriminately  on  all  who 
approached  her;  she  studied  the 
most  becoming  atiitudes,  and  even 
called  in  the  aid  of  unnecessary 
dress;  but  all  was  in  vain;  every 
body  said,  "  How  beautiful  Celinda 
looks!"  but,  unfortunately,  they 
added,  "  What  a  pity  she  has  not 
the  wit  of  Melissa  !"  and  even  those 
who  were  most  enthusiastic  in  praise 
of  her  charms,  deserted  her  as  soon 


her  the  oracle  of  tlie  circle  in  which 
she  moved,  and,  in  consequence, 
she  was  surrounded  by  scribblers 
of  all  denominations.  Our  poor 
Celinda  now  found  herself  in  the 
siciiation  of  the  man  in  the  fable, 
who  determined  to  please  all,  but 
tried  in  vain  to  please  any  body. 
Though  liberal  in  praising  the 
beauties,  she  was  etinali}-  free  in 
pointing  out  the  defects  of  such 
works  as  were  offered  to  her  in- 
spection ;  and  autliors  in  those  da^'s 


as  Melissa  appeared.     The  latter,     — remember,  reader,  we  are  speak- 


in  fact,  possessed  many  requisites 
to  gain  popularity  which  the  form- 
er wanted  :  she  covered  the  most 
profound  dissimulation  by  an  ap- 
pearance of  frankness  and  sinceri- 


ingof  old  times — coidd  not  bear  to 
be  told  of  their  defects.  She  was 
accused  of  fastidiousness,  of  want 
of  judgment,  and  even  of  envy  : 
this  abuse  afflicted  her,  but  a  cir- 


ty ;  and,  though  she  estimated  her  ji  cnmstance  occurred  which  render- 


talents    at    even    more    than    their 
worth,  nobody  knew  better  how  to 


ed  her  for  a  while  insensible  to  it. 
She  had  hitherto  parried  all  the 


assume  the  appearance  of  humility,  attacks  made  upon  her  heart,  but 
Celinda  saw  her  votaries  diminish  p  she  was  subdued  at  last  by  the  si- 
daily;  and  her  only  consolation  lent  homage  of  the  ^-oung  and 
was,  that  the  time  rapidly  approach-  ]  handsome  Florimon,  who  approach- 
ed when  she  would  be  allowed  to  ed  her  with  the  timidity  generally 
make  a  fresh  choice.  j  attendant  on  sincere  atlVction.    As 

At  last  the  happy  day  came,  and   i  the  ill  treatnient  she  had  met  with 
Celinda,  whose  agitation  of  mind     induced  her,  in  a  grea^  measure,  to 

give  up  her  time  to  literary  jdea- 
snres  and  pursuits,  she  was  not 
sorry  to  have  a  friend  who  could 
participate  in  tiiem  ;  and  it  was 
only  as  a  friend  that  Florimon 
begged  to  l)e  admitted  to  her  so- 
ciety.    Never  belorc  had  Celinda 


had  prevented  her  sleeping,  watch 
ed  impatiently  for  the  moment  in 
which  the  year  was  to  expire,  that  ' 
she  might  utter  aloud  her  wish  to  ' 
exchange  the  gift  of  beauty  for  wit.  ! 
The  moment  she  had  expressed  it,  I 
she  was  sensible  of  a  total  change 


210 


CELINDA,   OR   THE   WISHES:   A   TALE. 


enjoyed  such  perfect  happiness : 
the  taste  and  understandins:  of 
Florimon  rendered  him  a  delight- 
ful companion,  and  they  wandered 
together  through  the  fiovvery  re- 
gions of  poetry,  till  their  friend- 
ship, hy  degrees,  assumed  so  ten- 
der a  character,  that  Celinda  could 
no  longer  hide  from  herself  that 
esteem  with  her  had  softened  into 
love.  The  discovery,  however,  did 
not  displease  her ;  she  accepted  the 
oQ'ered  heart  of  Florimon  graci- 
ously, and  the  time  was  fixed  for 
their  nuf)tials,  wiien  the  faithless 
Florimon,  allured  by  the  immense 
wealth  of  Sophronia,  forgot  bis 
vows  to  Celinda,  and  gave  his  hand 
to  a  woman  whose  only  charm  was 
her  money. 

The  world  gave  Celinda  credit 
for    tlie    apparetit    stoicism    with 
^vhich    she    bore    her    disappoint- 
ment,  but  it  sunk   deep  into   her 
heart;    and   her  only   consolation 
was,  the  idea  of  the  revenge  which 
slie   knew   si;e    had   the  power    off 
taking    on     her    perfidious    lover.  ; 
The  year  of  trial  was  just  expired,  [ 
and  our  young  readers  will  better  I 
conceive  than  we  can  describe,  the  I 
feverish  impatience  with  which  she  j 
waited  for  its  close,  that  she  might 
obtain  riches  even  superior  to  those 
for  which  she  had  been  sacrificed,, 
The  happy  moment  at  length  ar- 
rived,  and  she  was  upon  the  point 
of   uttering    her    wish,    when    her 
guardian  sylph   stood  before  her. 
*'  Rasli  Celinda,"  cried  she, "  have 
not    two    disappointments    taught 
you  the  necessity  of  making  a  pru- 
dent choice  of  your  third   wish  ? 
Have  you  forgotten  tliat  with  it  my 
power  end   ?" 

We  shall  not  repeat  the  argu- 
ments used  by  trie  s}  Iph  to  induce 


Celinda  to  deliberate  before  she 
made  a  third  choice.  To  l)e  re- 
venged on  the  perfidious  Florimon, 
who  she  was  conscious  still  loved 
her,  appeared  to  Celinda  the  only 
thing  worth  wishing  for;  and  the 
sylph,  finding  it  vain  to  argue 
against  riches,  quitted  her  with  a 
sigh,  and  a  promise  that  the  en- 
suing day  her  wealth  should  be 
boundless. 

Intent  more  on  mortifying  Flori- 
mon than  on  her  own  gratification, 
Celinda  now  shone  forth  as  the  ar- 
bitress  of  fashion  ;  sh,e  dazzled  all 
her  friends  by  her  luxurious  and 
expensive  manner  of  living;  but 
when  the  first  violence  of  her  re- 
sentment was  over,  she  heartily  re- 
pented of  her  choice.  The  pos- 
session of  wealth  afiorded  her  even 
less  pleasure  than  she  had  derived 
from  her  two  former  wishes:  natu- 
rally simple  and  temperate  in  her 
tastes  and  habits,  tlie  luxury  with 
whjch  she  was  surrounded  soon  be- 
came disgusting  to  her,  and  in  a 
little  time  she  had  the  mortification 
to  perceive,  that  the  principal  gra- 
tification which  her  friends  ap- 
peared to  derive  from  the  costly 
ente/tainments  with  which  she  re- 
galed them,  was  the  opportunity 
they  afforded  to  satirize  her  taste, 
and  jibuse  her  ejitravagance.  Ce- 
linda, in  despair  at  receiving,  as 
she  thought,  in  every  instance  such 
unmerited  ill  treatment,  resolved 
to  fly  from  polished  society,  and  to 
seek  no  other  pleasures  than  tiiose 
of  benevolence. 

Naturally  ardent  and  enthusias- 
tic, she  entered  upon  her  new  pur- 
suit with  the  hope  of  finding  in  it 
that  happiness  so  eagerly,  and  hi- 
therto so  vainly,  souglit;  and  for 
some  time  she  was  not  disappoint*- 


tHE   FAITHFUL  SERVANT. 


2^1 


ed  :  from  her  bounty  the  poor  and 
destitute  were  sure  of  meeting  in- 
stant relief;  and  could  she  have 
known  what  it  was  to  moderate  her 
desires,  she  might  now  have  enjoy- 
ed the  p'lrest  atid  most  permanent 
happiness  of  w!)ich  liuman  nature 
is  susceptible  :  but  she  was  shock- 
ed aid  disappointed  to  find,  that 
her  bounty  was  often  r(<]3aid  with 
ingr-atitude:  that  her  generosity, 
instead  of  bcinGf  an  encour;i2.enit;nt 
to  honest  industry,  was  too  often 
used  as  the  support  of  idleness; 
and  that  far  from  being  satisfied 
wiiii  moderate  assistance,  tiie  ex- 
pectations of  her  dependants  in- 
creased in  proportion  to  her  muni- 
ficence. Bitterly  did  she  now  ar- 
raign the  tolly  of  her  choice,  but 
she  did  not  as  before,  long  for  the 
expiration  of  the  year:  the  last 
day  of  it,  however,  arrived,  and 
her  ceifcstial  guardian  once  more 
stood  before  her.  Celinda  receiv- 
ed her  with  an  abashed  and  morti- 
fied air;  her  eyes,  filled  with  tears, 
were  cast  upon  the  ground.  *'  Well, 
Celinda,"  cried  the  benevolent 
sylph,"  have  I  augured  rightly?  or 
does  the  possession  of  riches  afford 
you  the  happiness  you  expected  to 
derive  from  them  ?'* — "Alas '."re- 
plied Celinda,  "  you  were  right, 
riches  have  ulforded  me  no  happi- 
ness ;  it  seems  that  l)y  some  strange 
fatality  the  possession  of  my  wishes 
is  to  bring  me  only  disappoint- 
ment."— "  And  have  not  these  dis- 
appointments," replied  the  sylph, 
"  opened  your  eyes  to  the  folly  of 


the  wishes  you  have  formed  ?  You 
endeavoured  to  secure  Happiness, 
but  you  forgot  that  earth  is  notner 
place  of  residence,  she  has  long 
since  taken  her  flight  from  it;  but 
she  has  left  bciiind  her  a  substi- 
tute, which  all  mortals  have  it  in 
their  power  to  possess :  this  substi* 
tute  heighteiis  the  feelings  of  plea- 
sure, and  alleviates  tho^e  of  pain, 
teaches  men  to  use  rich'^s  with  mo- 
deration, and  robs  poverty  of  its 
sting. "^"  Ah!  why,"  cried  Celin- 
da, "  was  not  tiiis  the  object  of  my 
wish?  but,  alas  !  it  is  ik)w  ti)0  late." 
— *'  No,"  rf>plied  the  sylph,  with  a 
smile  full  of  benitiuity,  "  the  bless- 
ing which  I  speak  of  is  still  vvitiiin 
your  reacii — it  is  a  rc.^sh  tonci  n'j,!ti- 
///,•  a  desire  whicii,  if  ii  springs  sin- 
cerely from  your  heart,  will  not 
fail  to  keep  you  in  the  patlis  of 
virtue, and  to  bestow  upon  you  that 
invaluable  gift  content.'^ 

Need  we  add,  that  the  benevo- 
lent advice  of  the  sylph  was  not 
thrown  away  ;  that  Celinda  wished 
to  act  rightly  with  even  more  fer- 
vency than  she  had  desired  the 
|)Ossession  of  beauty,  wit,  or  riches; 
and  that  this  time  her  wish  afforded 
her  the  most  perfect  satisfaction. 
By  keeping  a  strict  guard  over  hev 
temper  and  her  actions,  she  gra- 
dually eradicated  those  foibles 
which  had  been  fatal  to  her  repose; 
and  during  the  remainder  ol  her 
life,  though  she  neither  oxj)ectei.l 
nor  sought  for  perfect  happines*., 
she  found  tranquiliity  and  cont«*nt. 


THE  FAITHFUL  SERVAN7\ 

Fran^'OIS  DuvaI-,  an  old  and  '  order  which  was  pronounced  fata^, 
faithiul  servant  of  the  Marquis  de  expressed  an  ardent  desire  lo  a^e 
Tourville,  being  seized  with  a  dis-  I  his   master   once  more  before    he 

f'o/.  ir.  No.  X.  I  F  F 


21-2 


THE   i'AUHPUt-'SEUVAiNT. 


expired;  and  the  marquis,  though 
at  that  time  immersed  in  the  gaie- 
ties of  Versailles,  did  not  hesitate 
to  leave  them,  and  to  encounter  a 
long  and  fatiguing  journey  at  the 
most  inclement  season  of  tlie  year, 
in  order  to  sooth  the  dying  mo- 
ments of  his  attached  domestic. 

By  the  time  lie  reached  his  cha- 
teau the  last  moments  of  Francois 
were  raf)idly  advancing,  but  the 
jntf  iligence  of  his  master's  arrival 
reilltimined  the  expiring  lamp  of 
Jife;  and  when  the  marquis  pre- 
sented himself  at  his  bed-side,  he 
rejoiced  to  find  him  much  better 
than  he  expectetl. 

*'  My  dear  lord,"  said  the  dying 
man,  "joy  has  for  a  few  moments 
arrested  the  hand  of  death,  but  I 
feel  that  all  is  nearly  over:  how- 
ever, thank  Heaven,  I  shall  die  in 
peace,  since  I  have  an  opportunity 
of  bequeathing  you  my  treasure." 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  good 
Duval,"  said  themarquisina  sooth?- 
ing  voice,  for  he  thought  the  old 
man  raved ;  "  cotnj:)ose  yourself, 
you  will  be  better  able  to  converse 
by  and  by." 

"  No,  monsieur  marquis,"  re- 
plied he,  "  I  feel  myself  going  very 
fast;  let  me  then  hasten  to  explain 
to  you  wiiat  1  call  n)y  treasure.  For 
many  generations  back  my  fore- 
fathers have  been  the  servants  of 
yours,  and  their  gratitude  and  fide- 
lity have  been  uniformly  rewarded 
by  kindness  and  protection  ;  of  this 
attached  though  humble  fatriily 
there  will  soon  remain  onl3'the  lit- 
tle Francois,  the  child  of  my  eldest 
hon :  it  is  this  boy,  wimm  I  regaril 
us  a  treasure,  thai  I  rejoice  to  be- 
qofcath  to  you,  iny  kind  master. 
U'hough  hardly  ten  years  old,  his 
idispositions    give    every    promise 


that  he  will  emulate  the  devotioM 
and  fidelity  which  has  hitherto  dis- 
tinguished his  race;  already  has 
his  young  heart  formed  the  wish  to 
be  placed  in  similar  circumstances 
with  his  great-great-grandfather, 
<who  saved  the  life  of  the  then  mar- 
quis at  the  imminent  hazard  of  his 
own,  I  have  seen  his  little  features 
glow  with  honest  pride,  while  he 
exclaimed,  '  Who  knows,  grand- 
father, but  I  may  have  such  an  op- 
portunity when  I  am  big  enough  to 
attend  our  master  to  the  wars.'  I 
do  not,  monsieur,  ask  your  protec- 
tion for  the  child,  because  he  has  an 
hereditary  claim  to  it,  but  I  wish 
to  obtain  your  promise,  that  when 
he  is  old  enough  to  be  placed  about 
your  person,  or  that  of  my  young 
master,  you  will  give  him  the  pre- 
ference to  any  other." 

The  marquis  readily  pledged  his 
word  to  comply  w  ith  the  request  of 
the  dying  man.  The  child  was 
then  brought  to  the  bed-side  of  his 
grandfather,  and  the  morquis, 
moved  as  much  by  his  artless  and 
infantine  sorrow,  as  b}-  the  situa- 
tion of  liis  faithful  Francois,  press- 
ed him  to  his  breast,  and  called  on 
the  host  of  Heaven  to  register  his 
solenin  promise  to  supply  to  him 
the  place  of  the  relation  Ise  was  so 
'  soon  to  lose. 

j  The  dying  man  raised  his  eyes 
in  pious  thankfulness  to  that  God 
in  whose  service  his  life  had  been 
spent;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after 
he  breathed  his  last. 

Strictly  observant  of  his  word, 
the  marquis  removed  the  little  or- 
phan with  him  to  Paris,  bestowed 
ujion  him  a  good  education,  and, 
when  he  had  attained  his  eighteenth 
year,  took  him  as  his  valet,  intend- 
ing, 4vhe»Jb«e  was  a  few  years  older, 


THE    FAITHFUL   SKRVAM. 


213 


to  give  him  the  stewardship  of  his 
estates. 

Ill  the  eiglit  years  which  had 
elapsed  irom  the  death  of  old  Du- 
val, the  ii^arquis  had  cncouiiterod 
much  affliction:  death  deprived 
him  of  an  amiable  and  beloved 
wife,  and  a  dirterence  in  political 
opinions  totally  estranged  from  liim 
his  only  surviving  son.  At  length 
the  storn),  which  liad  so  long  hung 
over  France,  burst  forth,  the  hor- 
rors of  the  Revolution  commenced, 
and  numbers  of  the  nobility  emi- 
grated ;  but  while  there  was  a  pos-  j 
sibility  that  his  presence  could  be 
serviceable  to  his  sovereign,  no 
entreaties  could  prevail  on  the  mar- 
quis to  follow  their  example;  and 
even  when  all  hope  was  extinct, 
such  was  his  reluctance  to  quit  the 
spot  which  contained  the  royal  pri- 
soners, that  he  lingered  till  escape 
was  nearly  impossible. 

It  was  now  that  Francois,  who 
bad  just  attained  his  twentieth 
year,  had  an  opportunity  of  prov- 
ing himself  a  worthy  descendant  of 
the  Duvals:  his  understanding  and 
talents  induced  M.  de  Tourville, 
the  son  of  his  patron,  to  make  him 
the  most  splendid  oilers  to  join  the 
republican  faction  ;  but  firm  to  the 
cause  of  loyalty  and  honour,  he 
resisted  the  threats  and  entreaties 
of  the  young  apostate.  The  mar- 
quis, whose  life  had  been  repeated- 
ly menaced,  consented  at  last  to 
emigrate;  but  he  was  obliged  to 
depart  so  hastily,  that  he  tool;  with 
him  little  more  than  sufficient  to 
defray  the  expenses  of  his  journey, 
and  enable  him  tor  a  few  weeks  to 
subsist  with  liie  greatest  frugality. 

The  mental  surterings  of  the 
marquis  rendered  him  little  regard- 
less of  this  circumstance.     Fran- 


cois, however,  did  not  lose  sight  of 
it  for  a  moment;  his  first  care  was 
to  procure  for  the  niarquis  the  best 
accommodation  their  scanty  means 
would  allow,  and  his  next  to  seek 
some  employment  by  which  he 
might  be  enabled  to  ward  oHT  the 
a{)proach  of  poverty.  As  he  could 
not  speak  a  word  of  English,  this 
was  no  easy  matter  to  procure,  and 
day  after  day  did  the  poor  fellow 
perambulate  the  metropolis  in  vain  ; 
but  thou<ih  liis  whole  sustenance 
perhaps  had  been  only  a  morsel  of 
bread,  he  returned  at  night  with  a 
face  of  hope  and  cheerfulness  ;  and 
the  poor  marquis,  who  had  not  any 
idea  of  the  actual  slate  of  their  fi- 
nances, knew  nothing  of  the  cruel 
deprivations  winch  his  faithful  ser- 
vant sustained  in  order  to  procure 
for  him  the  necessaries  of  life. 

At  length,  when  poor  Francois 
had  parted  with  every  thing  that 
he  could  dispose  of,  he  obtained 
employment  from  a  manufacturer 
of  spangles:  one  would  suppose 
that  this  was  very  light  work,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  it  was  of  the  mosL 
fatio-uincr  nature,  and  the  remune- 
ration  which  he  was  to  receive  tor 
twelve  hours  hartl  labour  would 
scarcely  purchase  l)read.  Poverty, 
however,  is  a  spectre  whose  terrific 
visage  has,  in  general,  little  etlect 
upon  the  nerves  of  a  Frenchman. 
Francois  calculated,  that  what  he 
earned  would  supply  the  tieccssi- 
ties  of  the  marquis,  and  as  to  his 
own  he  knew  they  would  l)e  easily 
supplied,  for  he  determined  to  per- 
severe in  the  rigid  system  of  absti- 
nence which  he  had  recently  adopt- 
ed ;  and  he  did  persevere  in  it  for 
many  months,  till  he  was  literally 
worn  to  skin  and  bone:  nor  did  the 
marquis  once  suspect  the  cause  of 
F  f  i 


iU 


THE   FAITHFUL  SERVANT. 


that  alteration,  which  he  so  often 
lamented  had  taken  place  in  the 
looks  of  his  faithful  Fraii^'ois,  now 
his  only  friend. 

From  the  time  when  this  unfor- 
tunate nobleman  quitted  France, 
he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  the  ener- 
gy of  character  which  once  distin- 
guished him;  he  considered  the 
conduct  of  his  son  as  an  indelible 
stain  to  his  name:  tliis  idea  haunt- 
ed him  continually,  and,  in  addition 
to  his  otlier  misibrtunes,  brought 
on  a  nervous  di:>order,  which  he 
hoped  would  speedily  terminate 
his  existence. 

-One  of  the  vexations,  and  that 
not  the  least,  of  poor  Duval's  si- 
tuation,was  the  ill  treatment  which 
his  principles  procured  him  from 
tlie  person  who  employed  him. 
This  man  was  a  Frenchman,  who 
had  settled  here  previous  to  the 
Revolution  ;  as  he  was  a  violent 
Jacobin,  he  let  slip  no  opportunity 
of  taunting  poor  Fran9ois,  to  whom 
he  made  a  point  of  always  relating 
the  atrocities  then  daily  conimitting 
by  those  whom  he  styled  the  friends 
of  liberty.  Duval,  conscious  that 
the  very  existence  of  his  master 
depended  on  the  situation  he  held 
under  this  brute,  listened  to  him  in 
silence ;  but  one  day  the  savage 
being  half  intoxicated,  made  use  of 
language  that  provoked  a  reply 
from  the  hitherto  silent  Francois, 
and,  in  consequence,  he  was  dis- 
charged on  the  spot. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  paint  the 
state  of  mjnd  in,  vvhich  tjie  poor 
fellow  returned  to  the  marquis,  to 
whom  he  did  not  dare  to  reveal 
what  had  passed.  The  iiext  morn- 
ing he  set  outvvith  a  faint  hope 
tnat,  as  be  could  now  speak  a  little 
l^i>gU.sK  lie  n[ii§l}t  ^^rjiaps  obtain 


some  employment:   he  was,  how- 
ever, unsuccessful,  and  he  was  re- 
turning, in  a  state  of  mind  nearly 
bordering  on  frenzy,  when  a  boun- 
ty of  twenty  guineas,  in  large  let- 
ters, caught  his  eye.     He  eagerly 
read  the  handbill,  and  round  it  was 
an  offer  to  young  men  to  enlist  for 
tiie  West  Indies.  Francois  paused  ; 
the  idea  of  leaving  the  marquis  was 
dreadful.    "  Shall  I  then,"  thought 
he,  "  stay  till  I  see  Inm  jjerish  for 
want  of  that  subsistence  I  can  no 
longer  procure  him?"  This  thought 
was  decisive;  he  made  application 
immediately,  received  the  bountj-, 
and,  feeling  himself  unable  to  take 
a  personal  le&ve  of  the  marquis,  he 
inclosed  it  in  a  letter,  in  which  he 
explained  his  reasons  for  taking  it. 
The  stroke  of  death  would  have 
been  more  welcome  than  this  intel- 
ligence to   the  unfortunate  man : 
roused  from  the  apathy  which  he 
had  so  long  indulged  in,  he  gave 
way  to  the  most  violent  despair; 
the  excess  of  his  emotion  brought 
on  a  ilangerous  fever,  and  in  this 
state  we  must  leave  him  to  follow 
the   fortunes   of   the   adventurous 
Duval. 

The  troops  had  not  long  reached 
their  destination  when  the  poor 
fellow  was  attacked  by  the  ypljow 
fever,  and,  during  his  delirium,  he 
raved  incessantly  of  his  dear  mas- 
ter. Chance,  or  rather  we  should 
say  Providence,  brought  a  French 
surgeon,  who  had  formerly  known 
the  marquis,  to  the  assistance  of 
Duval :  he  saved  the  life  of  thp 
poor  fellow,  and  was  so  struck  with 
the  heroism  which  had  led  him  to 
endanger  it,  that  he  represented 
his  case  to  Mr.  Jackson,  one  of  the 
richest  and  most  benevolent  men 
in  the  island.     This  gentleman  vLk- 


THE   FAITHFUL  SERVANT. 


21.5 


sited  Francois,  and  was  so  much 
pleased  with  him,  that  he  deter- 
mined to  procure  his  discharge, 
and  send  him  hack  to  England  hy 
the  first  opportunity. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  descrihe 
tlie  transports  ot  the  grateful  Fran- 
<jois.  Mr.  Jackson  took  him  into 
his  house  till  an  opportunity  offer- 
ed for  his  return  to  England,  and 
so  much  was  he  pleased  with  his 
behaviour,  that  every  day  increased 
liis  reluctanco  to  part  with  him  :  he 
would  not,  however,  suffer  feelings 
which  he  considered  as  selfish,  to 
interfere  with  the  plan  he  had 
formed  for  the  future  happiness  of 
the  young  Frenchman,  and  he  took 
every  means  to  expedite  his  de- 
parture. The  day  before  he  sailed, 
Mr.  Jackson  presented  him  with  a 
letter  of  recommendation  to  one  of 
the  principal  merchants  in  Lon- 
don, and  a  purse  well  filled.  Fran- 
cois' eyes  overflowed,  nor  were 
thoseof  the  benevolent  Mr.  Jackson 
dry,  while,  in  disclaiming  thanks, 
he  said,  as  he  pressed  the  hand  of 
Francois,  "  You,  at  least,  ought 
not  to  feel  surprise  at  finding  one 
fellow-creature  capable  of  assisting 
another." 

Francois  arrived  in  safety  in 
London,  and,  with  a  heart  throb- 
bing with  alternate  hope  and  fear, 
he  repaired  to  the  lodirings  where 
he  had  left  tiie  marquis;  hut  his 
heart  sunk  when  he  found,  that, 
jifter  a  severe  illness,  his  dear  mas- 
ter, as  he  always  called  him,  was 
gone  no  one  knew  whither. 

Francois  presented  his  letter  of 
recommendation,  which  was  inmie- 
diately  attended  to:  the  merchant 
took  him  into  his  office  at  a  good 
salary,  and  could  Francois  have 
^ived  wholly  for  himself,  he  might 


now  have  been  happy ;  but  the  un- 
certainty which  he  laboured  under 
respecting  the  marquis  poisoned 
all  his  enjoyments.  Months,  how- 
ever, stole  on,  and  all  his  endea- 
vours to  obtain  tidings  of  him  were 
unsuccessful. 

One  day,  as  he  was  passing 
through  Oxford-street,  a  litlle  girl 
presented  a  small  basket  filled  with 
artificial  flowers  to  a  lady  who  walk- 
ed near  him,  begging  of  her,  in 
hroken  English,  to  buy  some;  the 
lady  passed  on  without  regarding 
her,  and  Francois,  accosting  her  in 
French,  observed,  that  she  was  a 
young  dealer,  and  inquired  whether 
she  had  no  friends  to  put  her  in  the 
wa}'  to  do  something  better.  The 
little  girl,  who  was  about  ten  years 
of  age,  delighted  to  find  some  one 
who  could  understand  her,  told 
him  that  her  father  was  dead,  and 
her  poor  mother  very  badly  off  in- 
deed, and  so  ill  she  could  not  go 
out ;  "*'  and  poor  monsieur,"  conti- 
nued tire  child,  "  is  ill  too;  and 
when  I  saw  mamma  cry,  and  heard 
her  say  she  hoped  to  be  better  to- 
morrow, and  able  to  get  us  some 
food,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break,  till  I  recollected  the  flowers, 
and  I  stole  out  with  them,  thinkiuor 
that  if  1  could  sell  some,  mamma 
might  bay  a  soup  with  the  money." 

There  was  something  so  natural 
and  affecting  in  the  child's  manner 
of  telling  her  simple  tale,  that  Du- 
val had  no  doubt  of  its  truth.  "  You 
are  a  good  girl,"  said  he,  '*  and  I 
will  go  with  you  to  see  your  niam- 
ma. 

The  little  girl  took  him  to  her 
mother's  habitation,  which  was  in 
a  court  in  Oxford-street;  she  ran 
up  stairs  before  him,  anil  throwiuT 
open    the    door   of   her    mother's 


216 


THE  SAVOY. 


apartment,  presented  to  the  asto- 
nished Francois  the  emaciated  form 
of  the  marquis. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  paint 
the  delight  of  Francois  at  recover- 
ing, thus  unexpectedly,  the  belov- 
ed master  whom  he  had  given  up 
as  lost  for  ever.  When  their  first 
emotions  had  subsided,  and  Fran- 
cois had  detailed  his  adventures^ 
the  marquis  informed  him,  that 
during  the  illness  into  which  his 
departure  had  thrown  him, Madame 
Bercy,  the  mother  of  the  little  girl  'l 
who  solic  ited  his  charity,  had  taken 
the  next  room  to  his,  and,  struck 
with  compassion  for  his  desolate 
situation,  had  carefully  nursed  him 
till  he  recovered:  hut  the  expenses 
of  his  illness  had  reduced  his  fi- 
nances so  much,  that  Madame 
Bercy,  who  was  herself  very  poor, 
determined  to  take  a  cheaper  lodg- 
ing, which  might  serve  for  them 
both;  and  when  the  remainder  of 


his  money  was  exhausted,  she  had 
sliared  with  him  the  scanty  profits 
of  her  business. 

Need  we  say  that  Francois  re- 
moved liis  master,  the  good  Ma- 
dame Bercy,  and  her  little  Jean- 
nelte,  to  his  own  home,  where  they 
partook  together  of  a  repast,  per- 
haps the  sweetest  any  of  them  had 
ever  tasted.  Th.e  worthy  Mr.  Jack- 
son shortly  afterwards  returned  to 
England  ;  through  his  friendship 
Duval  obtained  a  still  better  situa- 
tion, and  Madame  Bercy  was  en- 
abled to  establish  herself  respect- 
ably as  an  artificial  flower-maker. 
Frantj'ois  had  the  pride  and  delight 
to  bestow  upon  the  marquis's  old 
age  every  itidulgence  which  could 
render  it  a  happ}'  one;  and  often 
did  the  marquis  acknowledge,  with 
gratitude  to  Heaven,  the  value  of 
the  legacy  bequeathed  him  by  his 
old  servant. 


Plate  21.— THE  SAVOY. 


It  must  be  obvious  to  every  read- 
er, that  the  subject  of  the  annexed 
engraving  has  been  chosen  for  our 
present  number,  not  forthebeauty 
or  picturesque  effect  of  the  build- 
ings represented  in  it,  but  on  ac- 
count of  the  alterations  which  this 
part  of  the  metropolis  is  about  to 
undergo,  and  which,  at  no  very 
distant  period,  will  render  a  deli- 
neation of  its  present  appearance 
an  object  of  curiosity.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  few  remaining  ves- 
tiges of  ancient  grandeur,  together 
with  the  modern  heterogeneous 
erections,  will  shortly  be  swept  from 
this  spot,  to  make  room  for  the 
splendid  improvements  embraced 


by   the    plan    of   the   magnificent 
bridge  now  nearly  completed. 

The  preci  net  of  the  Savoy  derives 
its  name  from  Peter  Duke  of  Savoy, 
uncle  to  Eleanor,  queen  of  Henry 
III.  to  whom  that  monarch  granted 
the  site  of  it,  to  hold  to  him  and 
his  heirs,  upon  the  tenure  of  their 
d€livering  yearly  at  the  Exchequer 
three  barbed  arrows  for  all  services. 
Here,  about  1245,  that  prince  built 
a  large  house,  which  he  afterwards 
gave  to  the  friars  of  Moutjoy,  of 
whom  it  was  purchased  by  Queen 
Eleanor  for  her  son  Edmund  Earl 
of  Lancaster.  By  his  son  Henry 
it  was  rebuilt,  about  1328,  in  a 
very  magnificent  manner,  at   the 


THE    SAVOV. 


217 


expense  of  5-2,000  marks.  In  1358 
this  edifice  was  assigned  for  the 
residence  of  John  King  of  France, 
after  he  had  been  taken  prisoner 
at  the  battle  of  Poitiers.  Here  too 
he  died  in  1304.  He  was  a  prince 
of  the  strictest  honour;  for,  after 
liis  release  in  the  preceding  year, 
he  returned  to  apologize  for  the 
escape  of  one  of  his  sons  whom  he 
had  left  as  a  hostage  for  the  per- 
formance of  certain  treaties. 

In  1381,  when  the  Savoy  belong- 
ed to  John  of  Gaunt,  it  was  entirely 
destroyed  by  the  insurgent  rabble 
under  the  direction  of  Wat  Tyler, 
who  set  fire  to  it  in  several  places. 
The  rebels  issued  a  proclamation, 
tiiat  no  person  shotdd  convert  any 
part  of  the  rich  eti'ec  ts  to  his  own 
use,  upon  pain  of  death,  and  ac- 
tually threw  into  the  tire  one  of 
their  companions  who  had  reserved 
a  piece  of  rich  plate.  Having  af- 
terwards found  some  barrels,  which, 
as  they  imagined,  were  filled  with 
gold  and  silver,  they  threw  them 
also  into  the  flames.  The  contents, 
however,  proved  to  be  gunpowder, 
which  blew  tip  the  great  hall  and 
destroyed  several  houses.  As  an 
appanage  of  the  dukedom  of  Lan- 
caster, the  Savoy  became  the  pro- 
perty of  Henry  VII.  who  began  to 
rebuild  it  with  thedesijjn  of  forming 
it  into  a  hospital  for  one  hundred 
distressed  people.  He  says  in  his 
will,  that  he  intended  by  this  foun- 
dation "  to  doo  and  execute  vi  out 
of  the  vii  works  of  pitie  and  mer- 
ry, by  meanes  of  keping,  susteyn- 
ing,  and  maynteyning  of  commun 
liospitallis  ;  wherein  if  thei  be  duly 
kept,  t!ie  said  nede  pouer  people 
be  lodged,  visetcd  in  their  sick- 
nesses, refreshed  with  mete  and 
Uriuke,  and  if  nede  be  v,ith  clothe, 


and  also  buried,  yf  thci  fourtune 
to  die  withitj  the  same;  for  lack  of 
theim,  infinite  nombre  of  pouer 
nede  people  miserably  daillie  die, 
no  man  putting  hande  of  helpe  or 
remedie."  This  design  was  con- 
tinued and  completed  by  his  son. 
The  walls  of  this  building,  which 
was  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  are  still 
entire.  Weaver  informs  us,  that 
over  the  great  gate  was  the  follow- 
ing inscription  : — 

"  Hospitiiim  Iioc  inopi  turba  Savoia  vocatum 
"Septimus  Hciiricus  fundavit  ub  inio  solo" 

The  hospital  was  founded  for  a 
master  and  four  brethren  in  priest's 
orders,  who  were  to  officiate  in  turn 
and  stand  alternately  at  the  gate  of 
the  Savoy  ;  and  if  they  saw  any 
person  who  was  an  object  of  cha- 
rity, they  were  obliged  to  take  him 
in  and  supply  him  with  food.  If 
he  proved  to  be  a  traveller,  he  was 
entertained  for  one  night,  and  fur- 
nished with  a  letter  of  recommen- 
dation and  as  much  money  as  would 
defray  his  expenses  to  the  next 
hospital.  This  institution  was  sup- 
pressed in  the  7th  year  of  Edward 
VI.  when  its  revenues  exceeded 
500/.  per  annum,  and  the  furniture 
was  given  to  the  hospitals  of  Bride- 
well, St.  Thomas's,  and  others.  It 
was  restored  and  very  liberally  en- 
dowed by  Queeti  Mary,  w hose  maids 
of  honour,  with  exemplary  piety, 
furnislied  it  witii  all  necessaries; 
but  was  again  suppre^«ed  hy  Queen 
Elizabeth.       : 

Few  places  in  London,  says  Mal- 
colm, have  underiLjone  a  more  com- 
plete alteration  and  ruin  than  the 
Savoy  hospital.  According  to  i\m 
plates  published  by  the  Society  of 
i'  Antiquaries  in  1750,  it  was  a  mo>t 
re*l>ectable  and  excellent  buiidir»g". 


218 


THE   SAVOY. 


erected  on  the  south  side,  literally 
in  the  Thames.  This  front  con- 
tained several  projections,  and  two 
rows  ofangular,mullioned  windows. 
Northward  of  this  was  the  Friary, 
a  court  formed  by  the  walls  of  the 
body  of  the  hospital.  This  was 
more  ornamented  than  the  south 
front,  and  had  large  pointed  win- 
dows and  embattled  parapets  lo- 
zenged  with  Hints.  At  the  west 
end  of  the  hospital  is  the  ])resent 
Guard-house,  used  as  a  receptacle 
for  deserters,  and  quarters  for  thirty 
men  and  non-commissioned  offi- 
cers. This  is  secured  by  a  strong 
buttress,  and  has  a  gatewa}'  embel- 
lished with  Henry  the  Seventh's 
arms,  and  the  badges  of  the  rose 
and  portcullis,  above  which  are 
two  windows  projecting  into  a  semi- 
hexagon.  The  descent  from  the 
Strand  is  by  two  deep  flights  of 
stone  steps. 

Part  of  the  old  palace,  which 
was  used  as  barracks  for  the  Guards, 
was  destroyed  by  fire  in  March  1776. 
Other  parts  of  it,  still  standing, 
have  been  lonjj  transformed  into 
private  dwellings  and  warehouses. 
The  ancient  chapel  belonging  to 
the  hospital  was  dedicated,  with  the 
latter,  to  St.  John  Baptist;  but 
when  the  old  church  of  St.  Mary  le 
Strand  was  destroyed  by  the  Duke 
of  Somerset,  ihe  inhabitants  of  that 
parish  repaired  to  this  chapel, 
which  thence  received  the  name  of 
St.  Mary  le  Savoy.  It  is  entirely 
of  stone,  and  has  the  appearance 
of  great  antiquity.  The  roof  is  re- 
markably fine,  flat,  and  covered 
with  small  elegant  compartments 
cut  in  wood,  and  each  is  surround- 
ed with  a  neat  garland  and  shields 
containing  emblems  of  the  Passion. 
In  the  chancel  are  some  handsome 


monuments,  among  which  that  in 
memory  of  the  wife  of  Sir  Robert 
Douglas,  who  died  in  1612,  merits 
notice.  The  lady,  dressed  in  a 
vast  distended  hood,  is  but  a  se- 
condary figure,  and  is  placed  kneel- 
ing behind  her  husband,  who  ap- 
pears in  an  easy  attitude,  reclined 
and  resting  on  his  right  arm,  the 
other  hand  being  on  his  sword. 
He  is  represented  in  armour,  with 
a  robe  over  it;  on  his  head  a  fillet, 
with  a  bead  round  the  edge;  and 
upon  his  arms  the  motto.  Toujour 
sans  taches.  Another  fine  monu- 
ment of  a  recumbent  female,  repre- 
senting Arabella  Countess  dowa- 
ger of  Nottingham,  also  attracts 
notice.  In  a  pretty  Gothic  niche, 
probably  occupied  in  former  times 
by  the  image  of  the  patron  saint, 
is  now  the  figure  of  a  kneeling 
female,  holding  a  skull  in  her 
hands.  It  commemorates  Jocosa, 
daughter  to  Sir  Alan  Apsley,  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Tower;  first  wife  to 
Lyster  Blunt,  Esq.  and  afterwards 
of  William  Ramsay,  Earl  of  Dal- 
housie,  who  died  in  1663.  Within 
these  walls  likewise  repose  the  re- 
mains of  Anne  Kiilegrew,  who  died, 
in  1685,  and  whose  extraordinary 
talents  were  the  admiration  of  the 
wits  and  scholars  of  her  time. 

This  chapel  was  completely  re- 
paired in  1721,  at  the  expense  of 
George  I.  who  also  surrounded  the 
burial-ground  with  a  strong  brick 
wall;  and  it  was  again  repaired  and 
beautified  a  few  years  since.  The 
precinct  is  extra-parochial,  and 
the  right  of  presentation  to  the 
chapel  is  vested  in  the  commis- 
sioners of  the  Treasury. 

At  the  eastern  extremity  of  th^ 
Savoy  is  a  commodious  ciiapel  for 
German  Calvinists;  and  near  the 


THE  fashionaull:  imatcii-maklr. 


219 


square  at  the  otlier  tnd,  a  ciiapel 
for  Lutherans  of  the  same  nation. 
Tlie  latter  was  built  unchr  the  Ui 
rection  of  Sir  VV'illiain  CiiaiuhtM^, 


and  is  considered  one  of  the  most 
elegant  modern  structures  of  the 
l.iud  in  the  metropolis. 


THE  FASHIONABLE  MATCH-MAKER: 

.'/    TA'E. 

(C'/i'clndedfiom  p.  148.) 
You  are  not  to  imagine,  gentle  jj  pleasure  completely  epicurean  ;  for 
reader,  that  Sir  Theudoro,  in  com-     she  wisely  imagined  with  the  j)hi- 


menciiig  this  a/fair,  had  sutiVrcd 
iiimself  to  be  beguiled  by  so  vul- 
gar a  ciiaracter   as  a  silly   drcss- 


losopiier  so  unjustly  abused,  timt 
that  could  not  be  designated  plea- 
sure vvhicli  isfollowv^d  by  pain.  "  I 


making  apjjreniice:  no,  MissGun-  i  do  notwish  you,  my  dear  Adelaide," 
ning  was,  in  reality,  as  i^no-  she  would  exclaim,  "  to  behave 
rant  of  the  mysteries  of  the  varia-     rudely  to   Sir  'I'lieodore,  or  refuse 


ble  goJtless  as  Sir  Theodore,  her 
nianmia,  by  the  practice  of  her  ex- 
traor  linur}'  talents  in  teaching  the 
**  robe  a  v\ider  How,"  had  rc'ndcrcd 
it  totally  unnecessary  for  her 
daughter's  adoption  of  so  vulgar  a 
pursuit  even  from  her  youngest 
days;  and  she  only  waited  to  retire 
from  the  temple  of  Fashion,  till  a 
lady  might  be  found  wiliing  to  h;y 
down  a  sufticient  quantity  of  cash 
for  so  large  a  concf.rn;  and   for 


ids  presents,  provided  tl',ey  are 
handsome  ones.  As  to  thinjs  not 
uorth  receiving,  you  may  n.NScri  a 
feelinsj  of  delicacy  in  refusins: 
them ;  it  will  save  you  from  a  c'narge 
of  being-  mercenary:  but  any  va- 
luable trinket — these  are  not  times 
Lo  refuse  such — accept,  unless,  in- 
deed, he  would  exact  too  much 
in  return.  Some  concessions,  of 
course,  must  be  made,  but  have  a 
care  they  are  not  taitp:ih!t  ones  ;  and 


sometime  did  Mrs.  Gun. dug  tluc-  .j  I  see  no  reason  wl  y  you  may  not 
tuale  between  the  claims  of  avarice,  ■!  marry  quality  a!iy  more  the  Gay- 
and  the  enjoyment  of  mixing  in  a  |  tans,  the  Series,  or  the  Bruntons, 


circle  in  which  she  conceived  she 
had  now  a  right  to  move.  Long, 
very  long,  had  Mrs,  Gunning  re- 
sided in  a  house  where  no  plebeian 


who,  you  know,  my  dear,  were  ac- 
tresses also." ,  It  must  be  confess- 
ed, that  Mrs.  Gunning's  morals 
were    somewh.it    of   the   Peachum 


feet  were  allowed  to  enter,  and  her  ;  school ;    and    it  would    have   been 


door  bad  long  been  impervious  to 
any  customer  except  her  whose  own 
carriage  conveyed   liQr,  and  whose 


difficult  to  persuade  her,  that  a  Far- 
ren  owed  her  present  digniiied 
s. ation  in  life  to  her  virtue  alone. 


brilliantAeZ-ounnighttell  the  passer-  '  At  the  same  liiue  her  theory  be- 
by,  that  here  lived  no  common  per-  i|  came  tc  :.er  daughter  of  much  more 
sonage.  Yet  Mrs,  Gunning  was  a  !  practical  benefit,  fur  Adelaide  bid 
thrifty  woman,  and  the  cautions  j  at  length  gained  so  firu-.  a  hold  on 
shegaveiier  daughter  on  her  trt/r^e  I  the  piui  of  Sir  Throdore  vvh^re 
into  life  were  not  to  be  despised.  ■  hearts  are  generally  deposited,  that 
She  was  a  lover  of  pleasure,  but  of  1  at  length  he  cared  how  little  lie 


2iO 


IIIE    FASHIONABLE    MATCH-MAKER. 


stinetl  from  the  firc-side  where  he 
was  plaijirig  at  domestic  felicity. 
Many  years  of  intercourse  with 
people  of  tlie  hrst  fashion  had  en- 
al)led  Mrs.  Gunning  to  ape  much, 
and  happily  the  worse  part,  of  their 
manners.  Thus,  at  cards,  she 
checked  with  all  the  appearance  of 
honour;  and  asked  a  favour  with 
such  a  grace,  as  to  make  you  be- 
lieve, however  largely  your  pocket 
might  sulTer,  that  you  were  the 
obliged  person.  She  alTected  such 
a  carelessness  of  pecuniary  all'airs, 
such  a  noble  contempt  of  any  thing 
approaching  to  debtor  and  credi- 
tor, as  seemed  truly  heroic:  in  pub- 
lic, she  bore  tlie  crash  of  porcelain 
with  the  greatest  nonchalance;  but 
soiled  satins,  or  accidents  to  ex- 
pensive bijoux,  were  made  good 
by  the  hands  of  those  who  destroy- 
ed them;  and  where  she  had  no 
claim  for  reparation,  she  made  it 
up  ill  the  sale  of  cheese-parings 
and  candle-ends.  Opportunities 
for  the  lovers  to  be  alone  our  mo- 
dern Peachum  did  not  neglect. 
Mamma  must  be  occasionally  ab- 
sent ;  and  Sir  Theodore,  after  talk- 
ing of  love  all  the  morning  at  Lady 
Linderiuere's,  would  return  home, 
in  the  hope  that  the  evening  might 
allow  of  some  little  practical  illus- 
tration in  the  society  of  Adelaide 
Gunning.  Sb,e,  however,  had  too 
great  a  regard  for  the  rule  of  discre- 
tion,to  allowthe  professor  to  dolit- 
tle  more  than  lecture  on  his  art;  and 
Sir  Theodore,  fully  persuaded  that 
he  l)ad  becouje  acquainted  with  a 
mirror  of  virtue,  became  entangled 
in  something  like  love  ere  he  knew 
it.  At  the  same  tinie,  too,  that  he 
was  about  to  appoint  the  day  when 
lie  was  to  lead  Dorindal-indermere 
10  tlie  altar,  he  was  still  hoping  to 


gain  the  person  of  Adelaide  Gun- 
ning, either  as  a  wife  or  mistress. 
Happily  for  Sir  Theodore,  the 
siateliness  and  love  of  etiquette 
evinced  by  Lady  Lindermere  gave 
him  so  much  time  for  considera- 
tion, she  became  so  dictatorial  in 
the  imagined  certainty  of  getting 
q^'  one  of  her  daughters,  that  one 
day,  when  he  took  occasion  to  ob- 
ject to  some  of  her  arrangements,  a 
ao;-c?y  war  commenced,  and  Dorin- 
da,  who  had  lately  cherished  a 
growing  passion  for  Colonel  Del- 
mahoy,  assisted  her  mamma  in  some 
little  vituperative  colloquy.  Sir 
Theodore  cut  the  connection  alto- 
gether; he  retired  almost  in  a  pas- 
sion ;  and — led  Miss  Gunning  to 
the  altar.  The  loss  of  Sir  Theodore 
gave  the  plump  Dorinda  some  few 
pangs,  for  Delmahoy  had  scarcely 
nibbled  at  the  bait;  he  was  ashy 
bird  in  the  matrimonial  way;;  he 
had  no  title,  and  his  fortune  was 
by  no  means  equal  to  that  of  Sir 
l^heodore.  However,  she  consoled 
herself  in  the  idea  that  the  colonel 
was  a  younger  man  ;  and,  in  the 
gossip  of  report  with  regard  to  the 
neiv- married  ])air,  sought  some 
consolation  in  slander  and  invec- 
tive. 'Tis  true.  Lady  Lindermere 
exerted  her  faculties  also  to  con- 
sole her  daughter.  "  And  as,  my 
dear  Dorinda,"  she  exclaimed, "  we 
are  not  getting  younger,  take  the 
colonel,  and  I  will  give  my  consent 
to  your  union"  With  no  little  ma- 
noeuvring Colonel  Delmahoy  was 
at  length  caught,  but  "  Dorinda's 
fortune  was,  in  the  event  of  mar- 
riage, to  be  settled  on  herself;" 
and  we  have  said,  or  meant  to  say, 
that  Colonel  Delmahoy's  was  very 
infer^ior  to  Sir  Theodore's.  The 
fact  was,  that  he  was  dreadfully  out 


TIIF.   FASHIONABLE   MATCH-MAKER. 


221 


at  elbows:  he  cut  down  trees  until 
there  were  no  more  lo  cut;  he  had 
mortgaged  and  mortgaged  till  he 
could  mortgage  no  longer.  For- 
tune had,  of  late,  jilted  him;  ha- 
zard ran  away  with  all  his  ready; 
Bk'ichcr  came  in  half  a  neck  before 
Charles  Surface;  he  retired  from 
the  course  completely  c/crt;/ec/  otif ; 
and,  to  end  all,  his  Indian  expec- 
taries  failed  him:  in  fact,  he  was 
to  have  been  married  in  June,  but 
a  cursed  run  of  ill-luck  at  lirookes's 
obliged  him  to  put  it  off  till  Sep- 
tember. In  September  he  received 
accounts  from  his  steward,  that  an 
inundation  had  destroyed  all  the  i 
cotton  and  colYee  on  his  planta- 
tion ;  again,  he  had  advice  to  leave 
Knrrland,  and  save  the  wreck  of  his 
fortune.  He  inunediately  left  Kng-  | 
land,  vowing  eternal  constancy  to  \ 
his  dear  Dorinda,  who  really  loved 
him,  and  returned  to  her  about  two 
years  afterwards  ;  but  again  was 
obliged  to  leave  her,  to  view  his 
estate  in  Ireland.  They  would 
certainly  be  married  the  following 
spring,  but  he  was  once  more  oblig- 
ed to  return  to  the  West  Indies; 
and,  after  keeping  her  three  years 
in  suspense  and  occasional  agony, 
each  post  bringing  worse  and  yet 
worse  news  to  the  sulYerinii  Do- 
rinda,  a  letter  came  to  inform  Lady 
Lindtrmere,  that  her  expected 
son-in-law  had  put  a  pistol  to  his 
head  and  blown  out  his  brains, 
leaviufj  her  the  task  of  comfortinsf 

o  O    I 

her  daughter  for  her  loss,  and  al- 
viost  lo  regret  her  n)atch-making 
propensity. 

This  event  called  forth  all  the 
phi/osnp/n/  oi'  L?n\y  Lindermere:  in 
a  few  n)onths  she  began  to  be  seri- 
ously angry  with  her  daughter, 
ivho,  as  she  said,  made  no  effort  to 


regain  her  serenity.  She  dragged 
her  again  from  market  to  market, 
from  London  to  Brighton,  from 
Brighton  to  \Veyu)ouih,  from  A\'ey- 
mouth  to  Hastings,  from  thence 
again  to  London,  and  again  froni 
London  to  Cheltenham,  from  Chel- 
tenham to  Malvern,  from  Malvern 
to  Bath,  and  so  on  ;  while  poor  Do- 
rinda, like  the  statuoof  Grief,  join- 
ed in  the  dance  like  an  embellish- 
ed automaton,  and  surrounded  by 
a  galaxy  of  fashion  and  splendour, 
shed  continual  tears  of  disappoint- 
ed love,  and  became  the  victim  of 
a  premature  disgust.  Still  was  she 
annoyed  by  her  motlicr  and  the 
crowd  collected  around  her;  a  sis- 
ter also,  who  had  now  gained  aa 
ascendancy  of  charms  over  her, 
was  throwing  out  her  lures,or  railu  v 
mamma  was  doing  so  for  her,  un- 
convinced of  the  fatality  of  lier 
piishin'j;  system.  Many  came  and 
nibbled,  but  quickly  saw  the  barb, 
now  less  concealed,  and  retired. 
At  length  a  sai/or  of  fortune  became 
domesticated  in  the  house,  and  Lady 
Lindermere  flattered  herself,  that 
at  ieiigt/i  her  youngest  daughter 
was  ahont  lo  be  married.  Upon  q, 
late  inquiry,  however,  into  his  cir- 
cumstances, she  found  he  had 
scarcely  withal  to  supiiort  liimself. 
He  was  persuaded  once  more  to 
enter  into  active  service;  he  ditl 
so,  and  dieil  in  the  defence  of  his 
country;  and  Misses  Dorinda  and 
Juliana,  at  the  age  of  three-score 
and  three,  have  yet  courage  to  take 
up  the  trade  of  their  long-dereased 
mother;  and,  unconvinced  by  time, 
and  unwarned  by  their  looking- 
glasses,  are  still  indefatigable  in 
repairing  the  drooping  lilies  and 
roses  of  their  complexions;  see 
every  year  fresh  recruits,  as  theY 
g"g  i 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


imagine,  inlist  under  their  banners, 
which  time  convinces  them  are  re- 
negacioes;  and  in  the  neglect  tliey 
experience  from  the  other  sex,  are 
haii"  conrincedj  that   they  have  to 


tiiank  their  mother  for  tlieir  celi- 
bacy, caused  by  an  over-anxiety, 
which  is  sure  to  defeat  any  jjurpose 
it  too  eagerly  seeks  to  achieve. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER, 

They  leave  iheir  couutfis,  and  away  lh>  y  I'un 
To  theif  gay  coiiiitiy-house,  and  are  uiu  'in^. — 


-Anon. 


I   HAVE  a  letter  froai  a  smisible  Ij  in   your  adniirr.ble  work,  such  let- 


woman,  which  1  think  will  be  very 
evident  to  my  readers  when  they 
have  perused  it,  on  a  subject  which 
may  be  very  useful  to  persons  in 
her  class  of  life.  And  I  beg  it  to 
be  understood,  that  I  am  as  ready 
to  receive  the  communications  of 
my  sex  in  middling  or  even  in- 
ferior stations,  as  if  my  correspond- 
ents dated  their  letters  from  Ar- 
lington-street  or  Grosvenor  square. 
The  writer  of  the  present  epistle 
is  the  inhabitant  of  a  great  tho- 
roughfare east  of  Temple-bar,  and 
seems  to  possess  all  the  qualities 
which  render  a  wife  valuable  to  an 
industrious  and  thriving  tradesman; 
aind  that  the  industry  of  her  hus- 
band may  not  be  interrupted  b}^ 
fanciful  notions  of  pleasure,  that 
their  thrift  may  not  suffer  from  neg- 
ligence, and  the  provision  for  her 
family  may  not  be  lessened  or  ren- 
dered precarious  by  needless  ex- 
pense, she  has  addressed  herself 
to  me  with  such  an  account  of  her 
apprehensions,  as  may  draw  the 
attentions  of,  and  give  timely  alarm 
to,  the  good  man  himself;  nor  shall 
it  want  any  further  assistance  that 
I  can  afford  to  such  a  wise  and  vir- 
tuous design, 

TO    THE    FEMALE    TATTLTR. 
-  Sniadam, 

yv  'JThe  ready  kindness  with  which 
I  have  perceived  that  jou  insert 


ters  as  are  favoured  with  your  ap- 
probation upon  domesitic  occur- 
rences, has  encouraged  me  to  trou- 
ble you  with  some  circumstances 
in  my  situation,  which,  as  the  ac- 
count will  meet  the  unsuspecting 
eye  of  my  husband,  who,  as  he  is 
i)y  no  nieans  dehcient  in  under- 
standing and  what  the  world  calls 
cleverness,  lie  may  probably  ap- 
j)ly,  and  I  hope  to  heaven  he  will, 
what  I  shall  call  the  moral  of  the 
narrative  to  his  own  conduct,  and 
perceive  the  necessity  of  making 
that  reform  in  it,  which,  1  believe, 
he  feels  in  his  heart,  though  he 
does  not  communicate  the  secret 
to  me,  and  which  his  experience 
must  convince  him^  an  increasing 
family  requires. 

To  proceed,  madam,  in  my  story  : 
you  must  know  that  this  good  hus- 
band of  mine,  for  a  very  good  one 
he  is,  in  every  point  of  regard, 
tenderness,  and  fidelity,  is  a  shop- 
keeper in  one  of  the  most  busy 
streets  in  London  ;  and  a  mpre  ho- 
nest, pains-taking  man  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  trade  which  he  follows, 
or  in  the  neighbourhood  where  he 
lives :  but  his  notions  are  rather 
too  elevated  for  his  situatiorj ;  and 
though,  in  a  due  course  of  years, 
he  might  look  to  th.e  enjoyment  of 
his  present  indulgencies,  he  has 
not  attained  that  degree  of  prospe- 


TIIF.    I'KMALE    TATTLEIl, 


2^3 


ritv  which  can  justify  the  mocio  ot 
lite  that  his  vanity  has  led  him  to 
adopt. 

It  so  happens  ihut  the  principal 
part  of  his  acquaintance  are  trades- 
men wliosc  acqmiiions  in  hnsincss 
have  ena!)!cd  thetn  to  Iiave  tiicir 
country-houses,  or  vilhis,  which  i^ 
now  the  fashionahlo  lerni,  at  a  con- 
venient distance  from  lo\\n,  where 
they  may  retire  to  en'iov  liiemsclves 
in  tiie  fresh  air  from  Saturday  nii^lit 
to  Monday  or  Tuesday  morning. 
This  circumstance  awakened  a  spi- 
rit of  rivalry  in  the  hosom  of  my 
hushand,  wlio  determined  to  make 
as  genteel  a  figure  as  the  best  of 
them;  and  accor  iinsjiy,  in  the  he- 
ginning  of  the  last  summer,  took 
a  very  venteel,  comfortable  little 
place,  I  must  allow,  at  t\,c  distance 
of  about  four  miles  from  the  Royal 
Exchani;e. 

It  vva:;  in  vain  that  I  remonstrated 
on  the  inconveniencies  which  it 
would  inevitably  produce,  the  pro- 
bable neglect  of  business  it  might 
occasion,  and  the  additioiial  ex- 
pense it  would  ceriainly  produce. 
But  I  was  told  that  our  neiLihbour 
Spang/e,  the  laceinan,  who  is  not 
in  belter  circumstances  than  our 
selves,  iiad  his  house  at  Etlrnonton. 
He  also  quoted  the  Snectatur  upon 
me,  a  work  he  sometimes  reads  to 
me  of  an  evening  while  I  am  at 
work,  where  it  is  observed,  that  to 
carry  the  appearances  of  an  easy 
fortune  was  one  of  the  w  ays  to  make 
a  good  one.  Nay,  he  declared, 
though  I  do  not  remember  it,  that 
when  I  gave  him  the  bill  for  my 
last  winter  pelisse,  which  was  cer- 
tainly verv  handsome,  I  accouT^a- 
Tiied  it  with  the  remark,  that  his  wife 
ought  to  make  as  handsome  an  ap- 
pearance as  the  wives  of  his  neigh- 


bours; and  he  paid  the  money  with 
the  greatest  cheerfulness.  I  com- 
bated these  arguments  with  some 
success;  i>ut  he  at  length  emplo3'- 
ed  one  which  was  irresistible:  he 
eomplainc.l  that  his  health  was  con- 
siderably I  iipaired  by  his  living 
constantly  in  London;  that  he  was 
the  best  judge  of  what  he  sufVered 
in  that  particular,  and  insisted  that 
an  occasional  change  of  air  could 
alone  recover  him.  This  silenced 
me  at  once,  and  we  took  possession 
of  a  house,  garden,  and  small  field, 
at  the  rent  of  sixty  pounds  a  year. 
Its  situation  was  considered  as  un- 
commonly pleasant  from  its  hein<>- 
close  to  the  road,  so  we  could  see 
all  the  variety  of  company  and  car- 
riages wliich  passed  along,  and  be 
every  half-hour  conveyed  to  Lon- 
don by  one  or  other  of  the  scores 
of  stage-coaches  which  OiTcrcdsuch 
an  accommodation. 

As  our  house  has  a  very  reputa- 
ble appearance,  my  husbaml  was 
determined  to  furnish  it  in  a  cor- 
responding manner;  and  I  am  al- 
most ashamed  to  say,  that  five  hun- 
dred pounds  were  empl^ved  in  com- 
pif  ting  it  wiih  fashionable  uphol- 
stery. This  money  could  not  be 
spared  from  the  trade  without  some 
inconvenience.  Matters,  however, 
being  thus  arranged,  we  entered 
upon  our  weekly  visits  to  fresh  air 
and  rural  repose.     Of  tl-.e  former 

j  we  had  rnongh,  hut,  unless  when 
relieved  by  siiowers,  it  brought  such 

1  clouds  of  dust  Irom  the  adjoining 
road  as  almost  to  smother  us,  and 
made  it  fr<quenilv  luHressary,  on 
a  sultry  summer-day,  to  keep  the 
windows  shut,  and  thereby  convert 
our  sitting-rooms  into  absolute 
ovens.  We  had  a  very  pretty  gar- 
den, and  it  was  expected  that  we 


224 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLEU. 


should  be  regaled  uiih  the  tune- 
ful music  ot  singing  birds  when 
ne  rose  in  the  morning,  or  taking 
our  tea  among  the  flowering  shrubs 
on  our  grass-plot  of  an  evening; 
but  here  also  was  disappointment, 
for  tlie  farmer  wiiose  yurd  was  on 
the  otlier  side  of  our  quick-set 
hedge,  is  a  great  dealer  in  hogs, 
and  throughout  tlie  day  our  ears 
were  assailed  with  the  gruntings 
of  his  numerous  piggery  ;  nor  were 
the  lioneysuckles  and  jessamines 
which  twined  about  our  viranda 
capable  of  overcoming  the  unsa- 
voury odours,  not  to  say  the  stench, 
of  such  a  neighbour. 

But  this  is  not  all  of  which  I  have 
cause  to  complain.  The  more  se- 
rious grievance  yet  remains  forme 
to  describe.  After  all,  we  looked 
for  quiet  within  doors,  and  an  un- 
interrupted Sunday  :  but  in  thisrea- 
sonable  expectation  I  have  been 
more  disappointed  than  in  all  the 
rest;  for  no  sooner  bad  we  settled 
ourselves  in  our  country  habitation, 
than  our  acquaintance,  vvitli  all  the 
easy  freedom  of  that  character, 
formed  parties  to  take  their  Sun- 
day's mutton  at  our  villu  :  so  that  in- 
stead of  retiring  to  tranquillity  and 
repose,  we  appeared  to  have  opened 
a  new  scetie  of  bustle  and  confu- 
sion, and  to  keep  a  country-bouse 
for  no  other  purpose  but  to  bring 
on  a  round  of  drudgery  and  ex- 
pense. Those  wl.o  know  any  thing 
of  housekeeping  will  be  able  to 
form  a  judgment  of  the  economy 
of  providing  for  such  visitors;  and 
you,  Mrs.  Tattler,  will  be  con- 
vinced of  my  uncomfortable  situ- 
ation, when  1  was  obliged  to  affect 
the  appearance  of  satisfaction,  and 
lo  use  the  language  of  hearty  wel- 
come, to  the  very  people  whom  I 
wished  in  a  horse-pond,  or  should 


have  been  glad  to  liave  scolded  out 
of  the  house. 

My  good  man  began  to  feel  the 
inconvenience  of  these  visitors,  and 
we  contrived  to  lessen  them,  b}' 
walking  out  of  a  Sunday  before  the 
usual  time  of  their  arrival,  and  in- 
structing a  good  servant  of  ours, 
whom  we  let  into  the  secret,  to  say 
we  were  gone  out  for  the  day,  and 
thereby  to  throw  some  uncertain- 
ty on  the  probability  of  finding  a 
dinner.  We  had  also  unfortunate- 
ly got  a  character  for  the  excellence 
of  our  syllabubs  warm  fronj  the  cow; 
and  that  proved  a  temptation  to 
some  of  our  female  acquaintance 
to  come  of  a  Sunday  afternoon, 
and  partake  of  such  a  regale  :  how- 
ever, we  sold  our  cow,  which  ridded 
us  at  once  of  that  kind  of  company 
and  the  expense  of  the  syllabubs. 

Such  are  the  pleasures  of  a  Lon- 
don tradesman  at  a  country-house, 
and  my  poor,  dear,  excellent  hus- 
band, being  disappointed  in  all  his 
I  expectations,  and  the  place  having 
lost  the  charm  of  novelty,  is  heart-* 
ily  sick  of  our  seat  of  peace  and 
retirement;  but  then  he  is  both 
ashamed  and  afraid  to  throw  it  off 
his  hands,  being  fearful  that  his 
friends  will  circulate  the  laugh 
against  him,  and  equally  appre- 
hensive lliat  his  enemies  will  em- 
ploy such  a  circumstance  to  pre-t 
judice  h\m  in  his  business. 

I  have  told  him  over  and  over 
again,  that  it  is  better  for  him  to 
be  thought  a  fool  than  to  prove 
himself  one;  and  that  it  would  be 
much  more  to  his  interest,  that  the 
lease  of  his  house  should  be  sold 
by  himself,  than  by  a  certain  set 
of  ready  persons  called  assignees. 
I  have  brought  to  his  recollection 
some  of  his  own  acquaintance  and 
neighboiirs  whose  pride  has  proved 


MUSICAL    UtVIKW. 


225 


fatal  to  them,  and  ihoui;li  he  ac- 
knowledges tlie  justice  of  my  ob- 
servations, he  is  iiicorrigihlo  as  to 
his  determination  ;  and  though  I 
do  nut  think,  thank  God,  that  it 
will  prove  his  ruin,  yet  I  cannot 
hut  look  at  these  additional  ami  un- 
necessary expenses  as  so  niucli 
taken  from  the  provision  he  ought 
to  he  laying  l)y  (or  his  iamily. 

^Ve  have  three  children,  and 
this  confounded  country-house,  in 
which  we  did  not  set  our  feet  but 
twice  during  the  w  hole  of  last  win- 
ter, runs  away  with  far  more  than 
is  necessary  to  niainiain  and  edu- 
cate half  a  dozen  of  them.  Per- 
mit mc,  madam,  to  present  you 
witli  a  cursory  estimate. 

Kent £Q0  0  0 

Taxes 12  0  0 

Additional  servant's  wages, 

board,  &.c 50  0  0 

Interest  for  money  expend- 
ed in  furniture     .     .     .     2o  0  0 
Accidents  and  repairs      .     10  0  0 
Coach-hire  backwards  and 

forwards 10  0  0 

Extra  entertainments  .     .     50  0  0 

of217  0  0 


This,  not  to  say  a  word  of  addi- 
tional housekeeping  for  servants, 
shopmen,  &.c.  in  town,  while  we 
are  eujoijing  ourselves  in  the  coun- 
try, and  the  unavoidable  neglect  of 
business,  with  the  op))ortunitics 
which  servants  have  of  takin;;  dis- 
honest  advantages  during  the  ab- 
sence of  their  master,  &c.  &c.  &c. 
is  a  considerable  sum,  and,  in  the 
course  of  years,  with  due  manage- 
ment and  attention,  would  alone 
accumulate  into  the  means  of  pla- 
cing out  our  children  in  the  world. 
I  would  ask  any  tradesman  whether 
such  a  loss  can  possihly  be  repaid, 
if  no  other  evil  ensues,  by  the  va- 
nity of  occupying  a  country-house 
for  a  couple  of  days  in  a  week 
during  the  summer  season.  It  has 
indeed  always  appeared  to  nie, 
that  prudence  is  not  only,  in  the 
ordinary  ways  of  the  world,  a  most 
useful  disposition,  but  in  every 
situation  of  life  a  most  respectable 
virtue.  I  am,  madam,  with  great 
regard,  your  most  obedient  ser- 
vant, 

S.  Thrifty. 


MUSICAL 

Shakhpf.arl's  Dramatic  Soscs, 
con)>hli)ig  of  all  the  Song^^  JJucti,, 
Trios,  and  Chorusses^  in  Charac- 
ter, as  introduced  by  liini  in  his 
variuns  Dramas:  the  i\hisic partli/ 

^^few  and  partly  selected,  uith  ncu: 
Symphonies  and  Accompaniments 
for   the    Piano- Forte,  from    the 

^,  Works  of  Purcell,  Fielding,  Drs. 

Boi/ce,     Na/es,     yjrne,      Cooke, 

Me.'^srs.  J.  Smith,  J.  S.  Smith,  T. 

Linleif,  Jan.  and  R.  J.  S.  Stevens; 

^,io  zchick  arc  prejixed  a  genernL 


REVIEW. 

Introducliim  of  the  Snlject,  and 
explanatory  Remarks  on  each 
Flay,  by  VV.  Linley,  Esq.  Vol. 
II.     Pr.  11.  Is. 

In  our  Review  of  tlie  first  vo- 
lunie  of  this  publication*  we  have 
sufliciently  explained  its  plan  and 
leading  features.  The  present  vo- 
lume completes  the  work,  its  con- 
tents being  as  follows  . — 

f..  First  Series  of  the  /^7)05U(j|^^);«rpU) 

xiy.p. 'J30. 


226 


^ytYfeICAL    REVlF.W. 


AS    VOU    LIKE    IT. 

Song.  Under  the  greenzcood  tree. 
— ^Dr.  Arne. 

Chorus.  JV/iudoth  nmhitioti  shun'? 
— W.  Lin  ley. 

Sor.g.  Blozc,  hlou\  thou  zc'niler 
mud. — Dr.  Arne  and  W.  Linley. 

Glee.  Wliat  shall  lie  have  that 
hilled  the  deer'? — J.  S.  Smith. 

Duet.  It  teas  a  lover  and  Ms 
lass. — W.  Linley. 

Song.  Wedding,  is  great  Juno's 
crown. — W.  Linley.  ,' 

ALL  S   WELL   THAT    ENDS    WELL. 

SoncT.   Was   this  fair  face. — W. 

Liniey.  .    ,    it, 

•^  ,  iio,>  JucHtf  oioo/. 

WlNTEIt  S   TALE. 

Song.     When    daffodils   begin   to 

D  ^i         -J.ia-jiM 

r.  Boyce.  ;  , 

••     ,-,  -r  ,  .^looi'iiy  tuTj 

bonE.  Lazen    as  zmite.as  driven 

snozi). — W.  Linlev. ;  . 

•■■■■'  ^   "?  J  ^OCi  flip •  • 

Song.  Jf'ill  xjou  buy  my  tape?— 
Dr.  Boyce. 

Trio.  Get  you  hence,  for _  I  must 
go. — Dr.  Boyce. 

KING    HENRY.  IV 

Song.  Do  nothing  but  eat.—W. 
Linley.  -a"   ''"" 

KING    HENRY    VIII.    ;    .,  ,^ 

Song.  Orpheus  zcith  his  Jute.— 
W.  Linley. 

ANTHONY   AND    CLEOPATRA. 
Song    and   chorus.     Come,    thou 
monarch  of  the  tine. — W.  Linley. 

KING    LEAR.         ny'^SifJ 

Song.  Fools  had  ne'er  ie^'^mt^. 
— W.  Linley.    "'^^'^rHjij  JaaljoMi  ^fi^ 

HAMLET. 

Song.  Hozv  should  I. — Old  me- 
lody, ^vs  i.sn^Hlt^ 

Song.  Good  morrow  '^tis. — t>ld 
melody. 

Song.  Thet/  bore  him  barefaced. 
V — W.  Linley. 

Song.  Jndzcillhenotcomeogain? 
—Old  melody.  -^  ■■^- 


SECOND   PART. 


-   r    ;  r    CYMBELINH.  <r>? 

Glee.'  Hark,  the  lark  at  Hta^. 
teri'sgate  sings — Dr.  Cookci  ^(i.tlio 

Dirge.  Fear  no  more  the  heat  of 
thesun. — Dr.  Nares  and  W.  Linley. 

OTHELLO.  3m- 

Round.  yJnd  let  me  the  canakin 
clink. — W.  Linlej'. 

Song.  The  poor  soul  sat  sighing. 
— W.  Linley. 

MACBETH.  --■- 

The  whole  of  the  music,  as  it  is 
now  jicrformed  on  tlie  stage,  new- 
ly arranged  by  Mr.  Samuel  Wesley. 

By  the  foregoing  catalogue,  it 
will  be  seen  that  Mr.  Linley's  pen 
has,  as  in  the  first  volume,  contri- 
buted most  liberally  to  the  great 
object  he  had  in  view;  but  to  do 
full  justice  to  the  value  of  hisila- 
bour,  would  not  only  exceed  our 
room,  but  lead  to  a  critical  analysis, 
incompatible  with  the  plan  of  the 
musical  article  of  this  Miscellany. 
We  are  even  compelled  to  glide 
superficially  over  the  most  promi- 
nent and  interesting  of  his  compo- 
isitions.  -"nf 

.-Among  these,  we  notice  the  ap'<- 
propriate  additions,  or  rather  com- 
pktions,  of  Dr.  Arne's  beautiful 
songs,  "  Under  the  greenwood 
tree,"  and  "  Blov/,  blow,  ihou 
winter,"  in  As  tjou  Like  it.  The 
chorus  of  foresters  has  the  three- 
fold merit  of  being  a  highly  clever 
and  scientific  glee,  of  suiting  the 
worJ.s  admirably,  and  of  imitating 
the  style  of  Dr.  Arne's  preceding 
air  so  successfully,  that,  without 
being'  told  of  it,  we  should  have 
taken  the  song  and  chorus  as  the 
work  of  one  author.  In  two  or 
three  instances,  however,  the  har- 
mony' was  susceptible  of  improve- 
ment: in  the  12th  bar,  p.  6,  for  in- 


MUSICAL    UK  VIEW. 


227 


Stance,  tlic  accompaniment  moves 
in  harsh  fifths  ;  in  the  9th  bar,  too, 
of  the  same  l)age,  the  F  in  the  bass 
is  very  objectionable.  The  burthen 
to  Dr.  Arne's  second  song  above- 
mentioned  is  as  pretty  and  impres- 
sive as  the  poetry;  the  third  line, 
particularly,  calls  for  unreserved 
a])plause. 

Mr.  L.'s  music  to  the  ballad  "  It 
was  a  lover  and  his  lass,"  next 
denjands  our  attention.  The  inno- 
cent ease  and  sprightliness  of  the 
melody,  together  with  the  playfully 
flowing  accompaniment,  cannot 
fail  of  proving  equally  attractive  to 
the  untutored  ear  and  the  connois- 
seur. The  fifth  B  F,  in  the  first  bar 
of  p.  19,  ought  to  have  been  avoid- 
ed. This  objectionable  kind  of 
liarmonic  progression  occurs  more 
than  once  in  the  work. 

Another  very  favourable  speci- 
men of  Mr.  L.'s  comic  muse  occurs 
in  yJll's  xcell  that  Ends  kcIL  The 
song,  "  Was  this  fair  face  the 
cause,"  besides  its  elegant  subject, 
is  full  of  quaint  naivete,  especially 
the  passage  "  among  nine  bad," 
&c.  p.  23.  In  the  llth  bpr,  p.  2-2, 
we  could  have  wished  the  accom- 
paniment to  move  less  discordantly. 

In  King  lleiinj  IF.  (2d  part),  the 
drunken  song  of  Silence  is  equally 
diverting  throughout,  and  the  be- 
ginning, above  all,  neat  and  fanci- 
ful. In  the  6ih  bar,  the  E  in  the 
bass  had  been  better  G  sl:arp.  In 
barmonically  depicting  the  hic- 
cups, Mr.  L.  has  been  very  suc- 
cessful, more  indeed  than  suits  our 
taste,  or  accords  with  the  precepts 
of  Ta  KaXov,  whose  empire  extends 
to  music  no  less  than  to  the  sister 
arts.  But  a  step  or  two  further, 
and  we  shall  have  to  nod  assent  to 

FoL  II.  No.  X. 


the  antipodean  accompaniment  of 
the  bassoon  in  Mr.  Matthews's 
'*  Nightingale  Club." — Mojora  ca- 
namu!i ! 

Let  us  proceed  to  the  song  *'  Or- 
pheus with  his  lute."  Here  we 
fully  coincide  with  l\Ir.  Linley  in 
opinion,  that  tlie  words  of  the  poet- 
ry are  deserving  of  th.e  highest  ef- 
forts of  a  musical  mini!  \  but  we 
must  beg  leave  to  differ  totally 
from  his  assertion,  that  the  music 
he  has  devised  for  them  is  not  such 
as  to  do  them  the  justice  they  de- 
serve. To  say  that  this  composi- 
tion is  the  best  in  the  volume, 
would  bebut  comparative  praise :  it 
is  truly  beautiful  and  en)inently  im- 
pressive. A  vein  of  the  most  chaste 
and  ennobled  feeling  pervades  the 
whole;  the  heart-strings  of  the 
composer  could  only  have  vibrated 
in  unison  with  those  of  the  immor- 
tal bard  to  accomplish  a  produc- 
tion of  this  stamp.  We  refrain  from 
entering  into  any  detail,  not  to 
weaken  the  enthusiasm  we  feel,  and 
wish  our  readers  to  feel,  for  this 
high  effort  of  the  art.  The  instru- 
mental symphony  in  this  play  is  a 
scientific  and  pathetic  movement. 
We  much  approve  its  introduc- 
tion. 

Another  equally  happy  effort  ol* 
the  serious  and  tender  in  music,  is 
Desdemona's  air  in  Othello;  a  com- 
position not  tlie  less  valuable  for 
tlje  modest  diftitlence  with  which  it. 
is  presented  to  us.  The  subject  i& 
couched  in  sinijile  and  affecting 
strains,  and  the  ideas  elicited  froui 
it  finely  harmoni3e  v>ith  the  melan- 
choly tenor  of  the  text.  This  is  par- 
ticularly the  case  with  the  charm- 
iuii  and  oritrinal  ntiiiore,  the  select 
accompaniment,  tlie  elegant  tran- 
H  H 


m 


MUSICAL   ^lEVJEW, 


sition  to  tlie  key  of  C  major,  p.  67, 
/.  1,  and  the  like  happy  return  to 
four  sharps,  as  well  as  with  the 
style  Oi  accompaniment  in  the  suc- 
ceeding line.  Altogether,  this  song, 
and  the  one  before  mentioned,  ap- 
pear to  us  the  most  exquisite  per- 
formances of  Mr.  L.'s  muse  in  this 
volume;  without,  however,  depre- 
ciating the  merits  of  a  different 
kind  conspicuous  in  many  of  the 
other  pieces  composed  by  himself. 

With  rejjard  to  the  music  in 
Macbeth,  we  have  only  room  to 
notice  Mr.  Linley's  ingenious,  and 
to  us  !  ighly  plausible,  inquiry  as 
to  its  origin.  He  combats  the  com- 
mon opinion  of  its  being  the  work 
of  Matthew  Locke,  and  ofters  strong 
reasons  for  ascribing  the  whole,  if 
not  in  its  present  shape,  yet  sub- 
stantially, to  John  Eccles.  Of  its 
present  form  in  this  volume  Mr. 
Samuel  Wesley  is  the  author,  a 
name  sufficiently  valued  to  ensure 
the  possession  of  as  complete  and 
satisfactory  an  arrangement,  as  a 
happy  combination  of  science,  ta- 
lent, and  judgment  can  hold  out. 
The  Rural  Welcome  to   Box- Hill, 

set  to  Music  by  Miss  R.  W.  W, 

Pr.  4s. 

Our  review  of  this  publication 
was  completed  when  we  first  ob- 
served the  age  of  its  fair  authoress 
in  very  small  type  on  the  title-page. 
This  circumstance,  although  in  no 
way  operating  on  the  absolute  va- 
lue of  the  performance,  ought,  we 
conceived,  to  be  thrown  into  the 
scale  of  criticism,  and  induced  us 
to  cancel  our  previous  labour.  The 
anonymous  authoress  has  here  ven- 
tured to  compose,  out  and  out,  the 
whole  of  eight  stanzas  of  a  very 
interesting  poem  on  the  beauties 
of  Box-Hill.     The  music  forms  a 


kind  of  cantata,  in  which  recitavo, 
song,  duet,  and  chorus,  relieve  each 
other.  Such  an  attempt  at  the  ages 
of  fourteen  must  be  confessed  to 
be  a  bold  undertaking;  and  we  are 
willing,  in  our  judgment  of  its  me- 
rits, to  make  full  allowance  both  on 
the  score  of  its  difficulty  and  the 
age  of  the  writer.  Thus  viewed, 
the  present  composition  presents 
indications  of  musical  talent,  which 
loudl}'  call  for  the  fostering  guide 
of  scientific  instruction.  Withou^ 
entering  into  the  invidious  task  pf 
pointing  out  faults,  we  shall  gene- 
rally observe,  that  the  harmonies  of 
this  incipient  composer  appear  tQ 
be  dictated  more  by  a  good  natural 
ear  and  taste,  than  by  experience 
derived  from  study :  hence  we  per- 
ceive, in  various  instances,  errone- 
ous combinations,  or  awkward  suc- 
cessions of  chords.  We  would, 
therefore,  wish  to  recommend  tq 
Miss  W.  to  apply  herself  sedulous- 
ly to  the  study  of  the  principles  of 
thorough-bass  under  the  guidance 
of  an  able  tutor,  and  not  to  offer, 
the  fruits  of  her  zeal  for  the  art  to 
the  tribunal  of  public  opinion,  till 
she  be  conscious  of  having  suffi- 
ciently mastered  its  theory.  If  she 
follow  this  our  well-meant  advice, 
the  promising  specimen  before  us 
affords  the  best  liopes  of  the  musir 
cal  world  beholding  at  last  a  female 
composer  really  deserving  of  that 
name.  That  sex  has  produced 
painters,  sculptors,  poets,  and  even 
mathematicians  and  philosophers^, 
but  no  composer  of  eminence.  The 
reason  perhaps  is  precisely,  be- 
cause the  syren  accents  of  harmony 
lull  its  fair  votaries  into  a  belief, 
that  an  art,  apparently  so  easj, 
may,  like  the  piping  of  Gerrpaii 
bullfinches,  be  acc^uired  by  ao  inbir 


RfUSlCAL    RtVltW. 


229 


tative  good  ear,  without  suhmittiiijr 
to  the  discipline  oi' theoretical  in- 
struction. 

**  Amanti  Cost  ant  i,^''  from  the  Opera 
of "  Le   Nozzc   di    Figaro,'"    hij 
Mozart,  zc'ith   Variations  for  the 
Piano- Forte,  composed  by  Ferd. 
Hies.     Op.  00.     Pr.  3s. 
The   beautiful   and   well-known 
air  above-mentioned  is  so  eminent-  i 
ly   adapted    to    variations,    that   it 
would  have  been  a  matter  of  won-  I 
dcr,  if,  under  INIr.  R.'shamls,  it  had 
produced  a  performance  less  inter- 
esting than  the  excellent  variations 
before  us.     The  U'  is  disiiny;uish- 
ed  by  the  tasteful  flow  of  its  ani- 
plitied  melody,  and  the  aptness  of 
t!ie  accompanime\it.     Tlie   triplet 
passages  in    the  2d   maintain   the 
theme  in  unlaboured  purity.     The 
3d  variation,  in  C  minor,  of  a  higher 
and  more  scientific   cast  as  it  is, 
shevvs  Mr.  R.'s  talent  to  the  greatest 
advantage.  Tlie  perfect  fifth,  how- 
ever, in  the  minor  chord  of  D  F  A 
(first  note,  p.  3),  after  the  previous 
E  b  G,  is  so  repugnant  to  our  ear, 
that  we  are  inclined  to  tliink  it  a 
typographical  error,  especially  as 
the  imitation  of  the  passage  in  the 
second  part  is  free  from  that  ob- 
jection.    In  the    111)  variation,  the 
alternate  evolutions  of  both  hands, 
skilfully  placed  as  they  are,  pro- 
duce the   happiest  eiiect.     No.  5, 
with  its  short  triplet    accompani- 
ment,  and  the  nice  crossed-hand 
touches,exhibits  peculiar  elegance. 
No.  0  consists  of  a  set  of  very  fine 
quick  passages  in  C  minor,  between 
whic'i  a  portion  of  the  theme  in  E  b 
major    appears    interpolated    with 
much  originality  of  contrast:   it  is, 
altogether,  a  niost  interesting  va- 
riation.    The  7th    and   last  varia- 
tion, in  the  original  key  of  C  ma- 


jor, not  only  appears  with  pleasing 
relief  after  the  niinorc,  l)Ut  is  treat- 
ed with  the  most  captivating  sweet- 
ness; and  its  two  last  lines,  p.  7, 
the  offspring  of  chaste  and  original 
feeling,  lead  to  a  charming  termi- 
nation. 

Grand  Sonata  for  the  Piano-Forte, 
with  071   Accompaniment  for  the 
Violui  or  Flute,  composed,  and  de- 
dicated to  Lady  Flint,  by  Fred. 
Kalkbrenner.     Op.  2-2.     Pr.  5s. 
In  this  sonata  Mr.  K.  has  given 
such  free  scope  to  the  exercise  of 
every  qualification   which   consti- 
tutes   a  great  composer,    that  we 
shall  content  ourselves  with  a  mere 
cursory  allusion  to  its  general  fea- 
tures.    To  enter  into  a  detail  of  its 
numerous  excellencies  would  en- 
gross too  great  a   portion   of  the 
space  to  which  we  are  limited.  The 
movements  are  four  in  number:  an 
allegro  and  minuet  in  E  b,  an  adagio 
in  AC,  and  a  rondo  in  E  b,  all  ot 
which   require  the  abilities  of  an 
experienced   performer.     The  al- 
legro, in  point  of  passages  and  ge- 
neral construction,  partakes  of  the 
char.'icter  of  a   concerto ;    and   its 
profound   liarmonic   couibinations, 
originality  of  ideas,  taste,  and  gran- 
deur of  style,  proclaim  the  pen  of  a 
master  in  the  art.     In  the  minuet 
Mr.  K.  has  followed,  without  copy- 
ing, Haydn's  best  manner;  whileiti 
the   adagio,    the   style   of   Mozart 
seems  to  have  served  as  a  guide. 
"With  such  models  before  him,  it  is 
not  surprising,  that  such,  talents  as 
Mr.  K.  possesses,  should  have  pro- 
duced two  movements  which  can- 
not fail  to  delight  the  heart  of  every 
true  votary  of  the  science.     The 
rondo  ingratiates  itself  at  the  out- 
j  set  by  its  fugued  subject,  which  is 
particularly  well  developed  in  the 
H  n  2' 


230 


^lUSICAL  -ttEVIEW. 


second  part.  The  passaj^es,  and 
other  digressive  matter,  are  some- 
x%'hat  more  ligl'.t  in  style  than  the 
general  complexion  of  the  otiier 
pieces;  but  the  movement,  never- 
theless, shews  sufficiently  the  pen 
of  its  author,  not  to  form  an  unfa- 
'vourable  contrast  with  the  more 
studied  features  of  its  companions. 
"  Hocc  gailij  to  Ilamht  and  HUly' 
'-  a  Duet,  Tcit/i  an  Accompauiment 
for  the  Piano- Fur'e,  the  Words  by 

Mrs.  J .  Colloid,  composed,   and 

dedicated  to  Miss  Watson,  by  J. 

F.  Danneley.     Pr.  2s. 

The  general  complexion  of  this 
composition  is  creditable  to  Mr. 
D.'s  talents;  but  he  appears  to  us 
to  have  mistaken  his  poet,  in  giving 
to  a  text,  every  line  of  which 
breathes  anacreontic  mirth,  love, 
&c.  (well  adapted  to  a  motivo  in  the 
pastota/esiy\e),  a  melody  through- 
out too  serious  and  too  slow,  and 
which,  where  it  ought  to  be  most 
sprightly,  is  most  stern  and  solemn. 
The  accompaniment,  too,  partakes 
of  tliis  serious  style;  and,  fraught 
as  it  is  with  laboured  dissonances, 
in  the  manner  of  theaiicient  school, 
heljjs  further  to  eairatige  the  music 
Iroaj  the  import  of  the  vrords.  In 
songs  of  this  description,  modula- 
tion ought  to  be  but  sparingly  ad- 
ministered ;  but  here  the  very  sub- 
ject, which,  by  the  way,  is  too  often 
repeated,  presents  a  series  of  mo- 
dulations from  major  to  minor,  and 
lice  versa.  In  saying  thus  much, 
we  are  bound  to  allow,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  in  the  treatment  of  this 
passage,  as  well  as  in  several  otlier 
parts  of  this  air,  Mr.  D.  has  given 
ample  evidence  of  his  skill  as  a 
contrapuntist.  His  harmonies,  in 
general,  are  correct  and  well-con- 
ducted.    The  new  strain,  however, 


p.  3,  consisting  of  a  set  of  di.^so- 
nant  sequences,  is  surely  out  of 
its  place  to  express  the  joining 
of  villagers  in  dance  and  music; 
and  the  succession  of  these  chords 
is  not  quite  free  from  grammatical 
objection.  We  observe,  with  sa- 
tisfaction, the  adoption  of  the  Me- 
tronome in  the  signature  of  this 
duet.  As  this  invention  enables 
the  composer  to  indicate  with  cer- 
tainty the  quickness  of  his  move- 
ments, we  hope  soon  to  see  Mr. 
D.'s  example  followed  by  the  rest 
of  the  musical  writers  in  this  coun- 

try. 

The  Cot  in   the   Vale,    a   faxourite 
Song,  uith  an  Accompaniment  for 
the  Piano- Forte,  composed  by  Sir 
John  Stevenson.     Pr.  Is.  6d. 
In  the  melody  of  this  little  song^ 
which  is  unaffected  and  pleasing, 
the  author  has  more  adhered  to 
the  English  ballad  style  of  com- 
position than  in  the  generality  of 
his  vocal  works.   In  point  of  metre, 
the  extension  of  that  of  the  poet 
has   betrayed   the   composer  into 
some  awkward  accentuation,  such 
as,  "  a  daughter  Jie  has,"  p.  2,  b.  6. 
The  word  "  daughter,"  on  its  re- 
petition, drags    under   the   many 
semiquavers;   and  "  but"  {p.  3)  is 
too  .short  in  pronunciation  to  ad- 
mit of  four  semiquavers. 
Lessons  in  all  the  Major  and  Minor 
Ket/s,  forming  the  second  Part  of 
Practical     Instructions    for    the 
Piano- Forte,  by  T.  Howell.    Pr. 
10s.  6d. 

The  first  part  of  this  work  has 
been  noticed  in  a  late  number  of 
the  Repository  (July),  and  we  are 
happy  to  say,  the  good  opinion 
which  it  gave  us  of  the  author's 
qualifications,  both  as  a  teacher 
and   a   didactic  writer  on  music. 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


231 


has  been  considerably  auj^mented 
by  the  sequel  now  before  us.     It 
consists  of  nearly  sixty  close  pages, 
the  contents  of  which  may  be  class- 
ed as  follows:  —  For  each  key  two 
or  three  lessons  are  given,  appa- 
rently of  i\lr.  H.'s  own   composi- 
tion,  and   these  are  respectivelj' 
preceded    by  the  fingered    scales 
belonging  thereto,  as  also  by  some 
general    directions    for    fingering- 
each  particular  key.    In  this  man- 
ner the  work  ])roceeds  to  as  far  as 
six  sharps,  returns  to  C,  and  thence 
goes  as  far  as  six  Hats  (for  the  ma- 
jor keys).     For  the    minor   keys, 
the  lessons  successively  extend  to 
four  sharps   and    seven   flats.     In 
consequence  of  this  arrangement, 
the  lessons  are  not  of  progressive 
dirticulty,    because    the    intricate 
sharp  keys  precede  the  easier  flat 
ones  ;  but  this  order  of  the  pieces, 
introduced  for  system's  sake,  may, 
of  course,  be  varied  by  the  pupil.  : 
The  lessons,   considered  with  re-  j 
ference  to  their  main  object,  ap- 
pear  to  us  extremely  j)ropcr  and  i 
judicious:   we  notice  with  appro-  I 
bation  the  sparing  manner  in  which  i 
only  the  principal  positions  of  the  | 
fingers  are  indicated,  as  also  the  \ 
ample    employnient    of    the    left  i 
hand.   In  point  of  composition  the  ' 
pieces  are  respectable  throughout, 
and  many,  especially  those  in  which  i 
the    sharps    or  flats   increase,  are  I 
entitled  to  the  higher  encomium  of  ! 
classic  elegance.    It  appears  tons,  ; 
that,  in  addition  to  the  directions  ; 
for  the  fingers  prefixed  to  the  se-  i 
veral  lessons,  some  hints  relatinir 
to  character  and  expression  would 
not  have  been  misplaced,  particu-  j 
larly  as  so   little  of  that  essential 
part  of  execution  is  indicated  in  { 
the-  pieces  themselves.  We  do  not 


suppose   there  are   twenty   furfei 
and  pianos  in  the  whole  book. 

T/ie  Saxe-Cohurg  March  mul  Waltz 
for  the  Piano,  composed  by  S.  F. 

Rindjault.     Pr.  2s. 

In  the  two  pieces  above-men- 
tioned, there  is  nothing  which  can 
lay  claim  to  novelty  or  tlisplay  of 
science  :  the  three  common  chords 
of  D,  A,  and  G,  with  an  occasional 
seventh  to  get  out  of  one  into  the 
other,  form  a  harmonic  round- 
about, in  which  the  melody  moves 
on.  But  as  the  latter  kind  of  ve- 
hicle is  a  safe  conveyance  for  all 
those  whose  incipient  skill  does 
not  allows  them  to  venture  on  more 
daring  feats,  so  may  we  with  ])ro- 
priety  recommend  IMr.  R.'s  labour 
to  junior  performers  on  the  instru- 
ment. It  is  correct,  pleasing,  in- 
telligible, and  free  from  the  slight- 
est difficulty. 

Mozari^s  Grand   Overture  to    Ida' 
mcneo,    adapted  for   the    Piuno- 
Forte,  Ziith  Accompaniments  for  n 
Violin,  Flute,  and  Fioloncello  (ad 
libitum),  by  S,  F.  Eimbuult.   Pr. 
3s. ;  without  accompaniments,  2s. 
The  arrangement  of  this  over- 
ture, like  that  of  the  other  drama- 
tic overtures  of  Mozart  wdiich  Mr. 
Rimbault  has  adapted  for  the  pia- 
no-forte, is  the  more  creditable  to 
his  talents  and  judgment,  as,  by 
steering  clear  of  executive  intri- 
cacies (for  which,  in  the  present 
instance,   anqjle  temptation  exist- 
ed), the  piece  has  become  accessi- 
ble to  moderate  proficients  on  the 
instrument ;  a  circumstance  which 
not  only  afibrdsa  sufficient  excuse, 
but  indeed   compensates,   for  the 
probably  intentional    on^.ission   of 
some  niceties  in  the  general  liar- 
mony  of  the  score.  ■' 


^51 


^^^^^ms^BAlliiittEW. 


An  hit  rod  lie  t  ion, 'March',  dnd  Rondo^ 
for  the  Piano- Forte,  composed,  and 
dedicated  zcith  permission  to  Miss 
Caroline  Danbenei/  qfStratton,  by 
Caroline  Kirby.     Pr,  2s.  6d. 
The  three  pieces  contained  in 
this  publication,  although  evident-  ! 
ly  not  produced  by  a  pen  familiar 
with  the  science   of  harmony,  or 
gifted  by  inventive  originality,  are, 
upon  the  whole,  not  uninteresting. 
The  introduction  is  agreeable,  the 
march   regular   in    point  of  con- 
struction and  shewy,  and  the  rondo, 
the  subject  of  which  is  set  in  imi- 
tation of  wind-instruments,   pro- 
ceeds with  animation  throufrh  its 
several  parts.  There  appears,  how- 
ever, too  great  a  degree  of  same- 
ness in  the  whole  of  these  move- 
ments;  the  harmony  lies  chiefly 
between  the  tonic  and  the  domi- 
nant; the  left  hand,  instead  of  af- 
fording a  mellow  support  to  the 
melody,  generally  beats  the  time 
with  octaves,  or  frequent  leaps  into 
upper  fifths  or  sixths ;   all  which, 
together  with  the  very  liberal  use 
of  the  pedals,  produces  rather  a 
stunning    gaudiness    than    select 
harmony. 

A  fourth  Air,  with  Variation?,  for 
the   Piano- Forte,  composed,    and 
inscribed  to  Mrs.  Hozvard  of  York, 
by  J.  F.  Burrowes.     Pr.  2s. 
A  waltz  forms  the  theme  of  these 
variations,  which  are  conceived  in 
proper  style,  and,  withoutbeingdif- 
cult,  afford  both  an  interesting  as 
well  as  agreeable  exercise  for  both 
hands.  The  quick  passages  of  var. 
2  and  4  lie  kindly  to  the  fingers  : 
the  imitations  in  var.  3,  between 
treble  and  bass,  are;  devised  with 
neatness.     In  var.  5  we  observe  an 
energetic  and  well-conducted  run- 
ning bass.  The  6th  var.  on  account 


or   Its  clever  ffiinor  moauTatioil5, 
and  its  general  scientific  cast,  is 
entitled  to  our  warmest  commen- 
dation.    The  7th  and  8th,  less  ;e- 
cherchees,  are  nevertheless  attrac- 
tive ;  and  the  coda  attached  to  the 
latter,  serves  to  close  the  work  with 
active  bustle  and  brilliant  effect. 
Three   Waltzes  for  the  Flute,  com- 
posed by  L.  Drouet.     Pr.  2s.  6d. 
Each  of  these  waltzes  consists 
of  six  or  eioht  distinct  and  sue- 
cessive  parts  in  a  variety  of  keys, 
more  or  less  distant  from  the  key 
of  the  subject.     All  these,  how- 
ever, are  so  neatly  strung  together 
that  they  form  but  one  connected 
whole.     The  melodies  are  pleas- 
ing, and  conceived  in  an  interest- 
ing style.     Another  merit  of  these 
waltzes  is,  that,  although  the  pro- 
!  duction   of  so  CTeat  a  master  on 
!  the  flute,  thej?^  fall  within  the  capa- 
cities of  moderate  proficients  on 
that  instrument.     We  should  like 
to   see   this  publication   arranged 
for  the  piano-forte.     In  p.  3,  /.  8, 
b.  7,  a  crotchet  is  wanting. 
The  Ti/rolian  Air,  a  German  Waltz 
and  a  French  Air,  zoith  easy  Va- 
riations, for  the  Flute,  composed, 
and  dedicated  to  Thomas  Newte, 
Esq.  hy  L.  Drouet.     Pr.  3s. 
To  each  of  the  three  tunes  above- 
mentioned,    Mr.    Drouet   has  ap- 
pended a  few  variations,  the  free- 
dom and  delicacy  of  which  pro- 
claim both  his  taste  as  a  composer, 
and  his  skill  and  experience  as  a 
performer  on  the  instrument.    Al- 
though we   observe  no  particular 
intricacies  of  execution,   we  yet 
apprehend  that  a  numerous  class 
of  respectable  players  will  ques- 
tion the  epithet  of  "  easy"  on  the 
title-page,  which  might  with  pore 
propriety,  at  least  comparatively 


CONFLAGUATION   OF   MOSCOW. 


'23:} 


speaking,  have  beep  niade  use  of 
witli  regard  to  the  tliree  waltzes 
ahove  noticed.  As  exercises  for 
the  zealous  student  on  the  flute, 


these yaviat. ions  claim  our  warnjest 
recommendatipn,  They  are  well 
calculated  to  form  his  taste  and 
htyle. 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Coi/sisliitg  of  iNTEREsrryc  Kx tracts  from  NEfF  Popular 

l*UnLlCATIONS. 

CONFLAGRATION    OF    MOSCOW. 

(IVuni  James's  Travels  in  Germany,  Sueden,  &c.) 
(Concluded from  p.  170.) 


Theri:  were  none  of  these  people 
but  had  some  peculiar  anecdote  to 
relate  of  their  sufferings,  and  all 
hore  yet  in  their  looks  some  mark 
of  the  privations  and  anxieties  they 
had  undergone. 

Mr.  C represents  himself  to 

have  been  seated  in  his  chamber 
the  evening  of  the  arrival  of  the 
French;  wliere  he  heard  tiie  bustle 
of  the  military  undisturbed  :  at 
night,  however,  two  dragoons  en- 
tered suddenly,  demanded  with  pis- 
tols in  their  hands,  whether  any 
Ilussian  soldiers  or  Cossacks  were 
concealed.  He  replied  that  there 
were  not. — "  If  you  deceive  us," 
said  they,  "you  die."  They  went 
up  stairs  to  search,  and  presently- 
returned  asking  for  brandy  and  a 
pair  of  boots;  th.ese  were  given, 
and  they  went  their  way.  Soon 
afterwards  a  thick  smoke  began  to 
make  itself  perceptible  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  house,  and  in  a 
short  time  the  whole  burst  into  a 

blaze:  Mr.  C was  obligred  to 

seek  shelter  elsewhere  at  a  late 
hour,  and  wandered  some  time  in 


quested  a  lodging;  this  was  soon 
granted  :  the  favour  was  not  indeed 
confined  to  himself,  for  he  found 
tb,e  whole  establisliment  converted 
into  a  place  of  general  refuge, 
containing  upwards  of  a  hundred 
wretched  persons,  littered  down 
in  the  several  rooms  and  out-houses. 
It  was  hiardiy  to  be  expected  they 
should  enjoy  the  sleep  of  this  ni^ht 
unmolested,  and  they  were  visited 
successively  by  four  several  parties 
of  marauders,  of  whom  it  can  only 
be  said,  that  the  first  left  nothing 
for  their  successors  to  deprive  them 
of.  Alarmed  by  the  continual  re- 
ports of  assassination  in  the  streets, 
he  told  us  he  never  quitted  the 
house,  except  once,  during  the 
six  weeks  of  his  abode,  and  then 
he  had  cause  to  repent  of  his  te- 
merity, being  insulted  by  some  of 
the  soldiers,  rol)bed  of  his  coat, 
and  congratulating  himself  to  have 
escaped  with  his  life.  Some  time 
after  a  few  French  officers,  as  quar- 
ters began  to  grow  scarce,  came  and 
billeted  themselves  in  the  house, 
where  they  were  received  as  wel- 
come guests,  since  their  presence 
house  of  a  person  in  the  Slabode  j|  aHorded  hope  of  protection.  This 
with  whom  he  had  some  slight  ac- i  increase  of  company,  however, 
qu^intance,  he   knocked,  and  re-    added  to  their  di^^cuUies  in  some 


vain,  till  at  length  discovering  the 


234 


CONFLAGRATION   OF   M(^SCO^V^. 


sort,  and  filled  them  with  fears  lest  i 
they  should  be  unable  to  find  sub-  I 
sistence  enough  for  so  largea  party,  j 
Meat,   which    had   been  abundant ! 
during  the  first  week,  was  not  now  [ 
to  be  bad  :  they  doled  out  day  by  ; 
day  to  each,  a  small  allowance  of  | 
flour    from    the    household    store, 
which  they  kneaded  into  paste  and 
baked  themselves  over  their  fires.  { 
This  supply  bcgiin   at  last  to  fail, 
without  the  possibility  of  its  being  | 
replenished  from  any  quarter:  for  | 
the  peasants  who  had  ventured  to  i 
market  being  beaten  and  robbed  of 
their  provisions,  carts,  and  jiorses, 
had    ceased   their  visits.      Feeling  ; 
themselves  deprived,  therefore,  of! 
every   other  resource,    they   were 
driven  to  forage,  accompanied  by  I 

the  French  soldiers,  in  the  gardens 

i 
of  the  neighbourhood,  diffiiinjj  for  ! 

potatoes  and  roots,  or  whatever  they  \ 
could  find  :  yet  even  this  was  pre-  ■ 
carious,  and  their  work  often  inter-  i 
rupted    l)y    the   incursions   of  the 
Cossacks.     In  a  half-starving  con-  i 
dition,  without  a  single  change  of  s 
clothes    or    linen,    this   gentleman 
passed  the  greater  part  of  the  time 
the  French  stayed  at  Moscow  :   but, 
pursued    by    more   tlian    ordinary 
malignity  of  fate,  his  sufterings  were 
not  l^rought  to  a  conclusion  at  their 
departure.     The  excellent  charac- 
ter which    he   bore,    had  led   the 
French  governor  to  solicit  his  ac- 
ceptance of  a  temporary  appoint- 
ment in  the  provisional  municipa- 
lity ;  he  was  urged  on  the  score  of 
putting  him  in  a  way  to  assist  his 
fellow-citizens,  and,  preferring  the 
calls  of  duty  to  a  consideration  of 
the  consequences  to  which  it  would 
expose  him,  unfortunately  yielded 
to  the  request.      On  the  return  of 
the  Russian  police,  no  argument 


that  he  could  urge  was  held  a  suf- 
ficient plea  for  such  conduct;  it 
was  necessary,  in  compliance  with 
the  feelings  of  the  times,  that  the 
utmost  abhorrence  should  beshewu 
against  every  person  who  bore  the 
sliglitest  mark  of  connection  with 
the  enemy,  and  to  have  merited 
their  confidence  was  the  highest 
crime.  For  this  he  was  condemned 
by  the  unanimous  voice  of  his  tri- 
bunal ;  and  the  punishment  award- 
ed was,  that  he  should  be  obliged 
to  labour  half  an  hour  (pro  forma) 
on  the  public  works,  with  a  badge 
of  infamy  affixed  to  his  arm  ;  after 
which  exposure  he  was  thrown  into 
prison  for  three  months,  and  ever- 
more forbidden  to  quit  the  city  of 
Moscow  on  any  pretence. 

Thisstory,  nevertheless,  presents 
but  an  imperfect  epitome  of  scenes 
of  distress,  that  varied  with  every 
distinction  of  age  or  sex.  The  fe- 
males were  of  course  no  less  sub- 
jected to  the  miseries  of  so  calami- 
tous a  period  :  Madame ,  re- 
lated to  us  her  tale  of  woe.  Feel- 
ing, as  was  natural,  great  alarm  on 
hearing  of  the  arrival  of  the  French, 
she  had  retired  to  an  open  space  of 
ground  near  one  of  the  churches, 
whither  a  number  of  the  inhabitants 
had  fled  from  similar  motives.  Th^ 
party  waited  here  an  hour  without 
seeing  any  one,  when  a  troop  of 
cavalry  came  up  and  asked  (it  was 
the  ordinary  inquiry),  whether  any 
Russian  soldiers  were  concealed 
amongst  them. — "No,"  answered 
the  women,  covering  up  with  their 
cloaks  9,  poor  wounded  man  who 
lay  half  dead  upon  the  ground, 
The  French  said  they  were  content^, 
and,  with  much  appearance  of  po- 
liteness, demanded  next,  if  they 
stood  in  need  of  any  thing  which  it 


COMFLAGUATION    OF    MOSCOW. 


235 


was  in  their  power  to  procure :  they 
rc'Cfivecl  a  seconil  answer  in  the 
negative, and  passed  on.  Presently 
one  of  them  returned  with  a  bottle 
ol"  brandy  in  his  hand,  and  kindly 
offered  them  to  drink  :  after  this, 
as  night  cauie  on,  the  whole  group 
dispersed  to  seek  for  shelter  where 
occasion  might  serve.  The  lady, 
with  her  husband  and  daughter,  re- 
tired to  an  empty  house,  and  re- 
mained there  tor  two  days,  not  dar- 
ing to  stir  out  of  doors;  when,  being 
almost  famished,  the  husband  was 
obliged  to  go  iibroad  with  the  hope 
of  procuring  provisions.  In  cross- 
ing the  street  he  stopped,  either 
iVoni  curiosity  or  other  trivial  mo- 
tives, and  {)ickt;d  up  a  roc:ket-case 
which  was  lying  on  tlie  ground, 
with  ihcappeariince  of  having  been 
used  in  the  conflagration  :  seeing, 
however,  that  he  was  observed  by 
two  French  soldiers,  he  put  it  away 
in  his  pocket  somewhiit  perhaps  in 
a  hurried  manner;  they  at  tiie  in- 
stant came  up,  and  demanded,  in  a 
threatening  tone,  to  see  wliat  it  was 
lie  had  concealed.  On  beinjj  shewn, 
one  of  them  accused  him  as  an  in- 
cendiary, and  without  farther  par- 
ley, took  a  step  back,  levelled  his 
musket,  and  shot  him  through  the 
heart.  His  daughter  beheld  this 
scene  from  the  window  with  such 
feelings  as  may  be  well  imagined, 
and  the  wife  ran  up  but  to  behold 
him  weltering  in  his  blood.  At  this 
juncture  they  were  discovered  by 
a  French  officer,  who  happened  to 
pass  that  way ;  he  took  pity  on 
them,  and  removed  them  to  the  pa- 
lace of  Count  A.  Kasumofski,  then 
the  residence  of  King  Murat,  where 
they  remained  till  the  evacuation. 
His  majesty  had  been  driven  by  the 
irreverent  flames  to  this  hotel,  in 
/"(./.  U.    No.  X. 


which,  much  to  his  credit  be  it  said, 
he  opened  an  asylum  for  the  poor 
sufferers,  and  aflbrded  theui  every 
means  of  relief  that  was  in  his 
power.  Circumstances,  however, 
did  not  admit  of  the  enjoyment  of 
much  comfort;  a  large  assembly  of 
both  sexes  was  crowded  into  one 
apartment,  where  the  companion- 
ship in  misfortune  tended  rather  to 
increase  than  relieve  their  pains. 
It  is  distressful  to  delicacy  to  relate, 
that  in  this  very  room  a  woman  of 
good  condition  in  life  was  actually 
delivered  of  a  child,  her  female 
friends  standing  around,  and  en- 
deavouring with  their  handker- 
chiels  and  clothes  to  screen  her  as 
far  as  they  were  able  from  public 
sight. 

Mr.  B —  was  another  resident  of 
Moscow  during  this  dreadful  pe- 
riod; hut,  n)ore  favoured  by  acci- 
dent, he  lived  at  an  inn  near  the 
Twerskoi,  in  the  society  of  several 
French  officers,  from  whom  he  re- 
ceived much  kindness  and  atten- 
tion. His  account  furnishes  an 
idea  of  the  want  of  discipline,  or, 
as  it  is  termed,  demoralization,  that 
prevailed  in  the  ranks  of  the  army. 
He  had  one  morning,  he  says,  ven- 
tured out  in  the  street  imj)rudentlv 
alone,  when  he  was  met  by  two 
Poles,  who  attempted,  on  some  pre- 
tence or  other,  to  decoy  him  into  a 
private  place;  he  refused  to  accom* 
pany  them,  and  as  they  addeil  me- 
naces to  entreaties,  he  took  lo  flight ; 
the  street,  however,  was  empty,  so 
they  pursued  him,  and  he  was  ou 
the  point  of  being  overtaken,  but 
fortunately  turning  a  corner,  he 
stumbled  on  a  French  officer,  to 
whom  he  lost  no  time  in  applying 
for  protection.  The  officer  cona- 
plied,  inquired  into  his  story,  and 
1  I 


ADVENTURES    OF   A   GREEK    LADY. 


very  severely  reprimanded  the 
Poles,strik.ing  them  repeatedly  with 
his  sahre  :  they  answered  him,  ne- 
Tertheless,  impudently  enough,  as- 
serting^ that  leave  was  given  to 
plunder,  and  that  they  had  aright 
to  do  so :  he  told  theui  that  the  per- 
mission had  been  revoked  at  the 
end  of  the  first  week,  but  as  he  had 
no  actual  accusation  to  bring  for- 
ward, he  dismissed  iliem,  and  kindly 

promised  Mr.B to  accompany 

him  to  ills  lodgings.  On  the  way 
they  met  a  French  soldier  carrying 
a  bundle  that  bore  a  suspicious  ap- 
pearance. He  stopped  him,  and 
insisted  on  its  being  opened,  when 


several  watches,  rings,  &c.  and 
other  articles  of  plunder,  were  ex- 
posed to  view. — "Scoundrel!"  said 
he,  in  amazement,  "  is  it  not  dis- 
graceful enough  for  a  Russian  to 
commit  acts  of  thievery,  but  must 
a  Frenchman  also  turn  rogue,  and 
bring  disSionour  on  Ids  nation  r  Are 
you  not  a  soldier  of  the  grand 
army  r" — So  saying,  he  gave  him  a 
blow  on  the  cheek  with  his  sword, 
which  he  tlien  coolly  wiped  and  re- 
turned into  tiie scabbard  ;  and  draw- 
ing an  order  for  the  man  upon  the 
hospital  for  his  cure,  resumed  his 
conversation  with  our  friend. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  GREEK  LADY. 
fFrom    Tclly's  Narrative  of  a  Residence   at  Tiipoli.) 


July   1,  l;81. 

i'S  the  foUowinfj  events  related 
by  the  Greek  lady  whom  I  men- 
tioned in  miy  last,  you  will  find  one 
of  the  iew  instances  of  a  beautiful 
and  delicate  being  having  sur- 
mounted such  sufferings  as  she  ex- 
perienced in   the  savage  hands  of 

Turkish  robbers.     Signora  S , 

who  is  still  handsome,  was  born  in 
Dalmatia  ;  her  christian  name  was 
Juliana:  her  father  was  an  officer 
of  distinction  in  the  Venetian  ser- 
vice. Her  family  was  disliked  by 
the  Turks,  on  account  of  the  skill 
and  courage  her  grandfather  dis- 
played in  endeavouring  to  defend 
the  Morea  from  the  Turkish  arms 
wlien  they  last  gained  possession 
ol  it.  Her  mother,  herself,  and  two 
sisters  were  living  on  an  extensive 
estate,  beautifully  situated  on  the 
borders  of  Macedonia.  Rich  vil- 
lages, though  belonging  to  Turks 
and  Tartars,  surrounded  them,  and 
tliat  part  of  the  country  was  inter- 


spersed with  aromatic  heatlis, impe- 
netrable  woods,    and    thick    vine- 
yards; but  they  were  remote  from 
any  capital, -Salonica,  the  ancient 
Thessalonica,  being  the  nearest  to 
them,  and  they  were  not  far  iVom 
!  the  village  of  Contessa.    This  lady 
tliinks,   if  her  mother  had  caused 
alms  to  he  sent  to  tlie  holy  nioun- 
tain    of   Athos,  they    might    luxve 
averted  all  the  troubles  she  expe- 
rienced.    This  mountain  is  iiiha- 
;  bited  by  friars,  of  whom  there  are 
!  no  less  than  three  thousand  living 
in  thirty  monasteries  :   many  of  the 
I  Greeks  visi\  it,  and  purchase  sepa- 
rate  blessings    from   the   different 
I  convents  at  a  very  great  expense. 
'  As  the  inhabitants  of  the  surround- 
1  ing  villages  were  mostly  7^jrks  and 
i  Tartars,  their  society  consisted  onl^^ 
{  of  afew  familiesof  Armenians,  Dal- 
I  matians,  and  Sclavonians,  who,  like 
themselves,  had  retired  to  that  part 
of  Macedonia,  while   the  heads  of 
tiieir  families  were  fighting  under 


ADVENTURES   OF   A   GREEK    LADY. 


237 


iheVciictinn  banners  ajrainst  tlie 
Turks  in  Venetian  Dalmatia.  Bu- 
ried in  the  woods  of  Turkey,  they 
remained  often  a  long  while  with- 
out intelligence  from  the  more  ci- 
vilized part  of  Europe,  which  this 
lady's  mother  seemed  to  regret  in- 
linitely  more  than  the  other  Gre- 
cian ladies.  She  had  passed  the 
chief  part  of  her  life  at  Venice, 
and  from  being  better  informed, 
felt  greater  fears.  She  seemed  to 
ioresec  the  catastrophe  that  hap- 
])ened,  and  daily  forbade  her  attend- 
ants to  walk  far  from  their  dwel- 
ling with  lier  chililren,  fearing,  as 
she  said,  the  incursionsof  theTurks 
and  Tartars,  who,  after  every  vic- 
tor\-,  usually  scour  the  country,  en- 
riching themselves  by  plunder  all 
the  way  on  their  return  to  Constan- 
tinople, or  to  their  dl^^erent  beys 
on  ihe  Black  Sea  ;  yet,  as  they  ab- 
stain from  breaking  into  palaces 
atul  principal  houses  in  theirroute, 
there  is  a  possibility  of  being  safe 
bv  keeping  within  doors. 

At  length  some  vague  ro[)orts  of 
the  success  of  the  Venetian  arms 
lulled  her  into  an  idea  of  security, 
and  shefatall}-  acceded  to  the  en- 
treaties of  her  friends  to  spend  the 
day  at  an  Armenian's,  whose  resi- 
dencenearlv  joined  her  owu  estate's. 
She  was  accompanied  by  her  two 
beautiful  daughters,  Juliana,  then 
about  thirteen,  and  her  sister  about 
eleven  years  old;  and  she-confided 
her  voungest  child,  an  infant  of  two 
years,  to  the  care  of  its  nurse,  a 
young  ('ircassian  slave,  who  liad 
been  with  her  some  vears. 

She  set  out  on  this  journej'  witli 
nearly  all  the  aitendants  slie  had, 
for  greater  security,  though  with- 
out the  least  aj^prehension,  With- 
iw  sight  of  her  own  domains,  at  the 


anfileof  an  immense  forest  of  which 
they  had  a  few  paces  to  pass,  as  a 
tiger  rushes  on  his  prey,  so  sprang 
on  them  out  of  this  wood  a  party 
of  Turks. 

The  affrighted  mother  dropped 
instantly  atthe  sight  of  tliem.  Kach 
ruffian  seized  a  surprised  and  help- 
less victim,  and  it  was  the  work  bnt 
of  a  few  moments  for  this  banflitti, 
in  so  unequal  a  combat,  to  cut  to 
pieces  the  attendants  that  opposed 
them.  Covering  their  wretched 
captives  with  large  canvas  bags 
which  they  tied  over  them,  and 
fastening  their  prey  on  different 
horses,  they  took  with  them  Juli- 
ana, her  sister,  and  the  Circassian, 
who,  from  affection,  struggled  to 
keep  in  l.'er  arms  the  infant  she 
had  with  her;  and,  uiifortunatelv, 
(as  it  afterwards  proved)  sucjL-ecd- 
cd,  though  the  Turks  repeatedly 
commanded  her  to  leave  it  on  the 
ground  at  their  first  setting  off: 
but,  as  tlie  mother  lay  senseless, 
and  apparently  dead,  the  Circas- 
sian could  not  tliink  of  abandon- 
ing the  infant  to  itself.  With  in- 
credible swiftness  they  continued 
pushing  their  horses  up  the  steep- 
est hills  for  several  hours,  till  a 
most  tremendous  storm  of  tliun- 
dcr  and  lightning  obliged  them  to 
stop.  They  spread  bags  on  the 
ground  by  the  side  of  a  woodv 
mountain,  and  pitched  some 
wretched  tents,  which  ill  sl.eltered 
them  from  the  rain,  in  one  of 
which  they  placed  their  miserable 
burthens,  more  dead  than  alive. 

After  the  storm  subsided,  they 
brought  them  dried  salt  meat, 
called  by  the  moors  kmlccrU  which 
they  had  toasted,  with  black  bread 
and  water,  and  threatened  thenr 
with  death  if  they  did  not  eat.  The 
I  I  -2 


238 


AUVEKTVllErS  OT  A  GREEK   LADV. 


Circassian  endeavoured  to  stifle  the 
cries  of  the  unhappy  chikl  in  her 
bosom,  frightened  at  the  rage  with 
which  the  Turks  had  complained 
of  its  screams ;  nor  did  her  fears 
suggest  to   her  the  horrors  they 
had  yet  to  witness,  for  at  the  sun- 
rise these  savages  committed  the 
infant  to  the  flames,  to  ease  them- 
selves of  its  cries  and  the  incon- 
veniency  of  its  heing  attended  to, 
and  then  travelled  with  increased 
celerity     across     sandy      deserts, 
through  thick,  woods,  and  over  rug- 
ged and  steep  mountains,  till  with- 
in a  short  distance  of  Constanti- 
nople, where  they  sold  the  unhap- 
py Juliana  and  her  sister  to   an 
Aleppo  merchant,  who,  for  their 
farther  misfortune,  rejected  put- 
chasing  the  Circassian;  and  thus 
parting  them  from    their  faithful 
domestic  and  fellow-sufferer,  car- 
ried them  on  towards  Constanti- 
nople.     Their    disconsolate    and 
wretched  mother,  soon  after  they 
were  torn  from   her,  was   sought 
for  and  recovered  by  her  friends. 
When  able  to  rouse  herself  from 
the  lethargy  which  this  dreadful 
catastrophe  had  thrown  her  into, 
by  her  unremitted   inquiries  she 
learned  the  cruel  news  of  her  hus- 
band having  been  massacred  with 
a  party  of  Venetians.by  the  Turks, 
and  that  the  banditti,  or  Turkish 
soldiers,  who  had  carried  off  her 
daughters,  had  taken  them  to  Con  - 
stantinople.    In  a  distracted  state, 
she  immediately  collected  all  she 
could  of  her  property  and  deter- 
mined to  follow  them.      She  ap- 
plied to  an  Armenian  merchant  at 
Constantinople,  under  whose  pro- 
tection she  meant  to  place  herself 
while  she  remained  at  the  Porte, 
and  employed  him  to  make  every 


possible  search  for  her  lost  chil- 
dren.     When  she  had  informed 
him  of  her  wretched  story,  he  told 
her  that  he  was,  at  the  same  time, 
lamenting  the  fate  of  a  Venetian 
youth  of  family,  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  tliat  morning,  and  despair- 
ed of  getting  him  ransomed.     He 
had  been  taken  prisoner,  and  was 
become  the  property  of  a  Turkish 
bashaw,  who  had  heen  recalled  by 
the  Porte,   to  be  appointed  to  a 
new  government,  and  who  every 
day  increased  the  sum  he  demand- 
ed for  this  unfortunate  gentleman's 
liberty.     As  Juliana's  grandfather 
had  fought  in   several  campaigns 
for  the  Venetians,  and  her  father 
had   now  fallen  in   their  service, 
the  moment  the  wretched  event  of 
her's  and  her  sister's  capture  was 
known   at  Venice,   an   order  was 
sent  from  the  states  to  ransom  the 
cliildren  as  soon  as  they  could  be 
{  found.     The  order  reached  Con- 
stantinople a  few  days  after  their 
mother  had  arrived   there.     This 
public  tribute  paid  to  the  memory 
of  those  so  dear  to  her,  was  truly 
consoling,  but  no  one  knew  where 
to  find  the  unhappy  captives.   The 
Armenian  merchant  she  was  witli, 
though  very  young,  was  extremely 
opulent   and  universally  beloved 
as  a  most  amiable  character.     He 
felt  sincerely  for  her  distress,  and 
his  age  and  temper  led  him  to  be 
bighly.interested  from  the  picture 
she  gave  him  of  the  two  beautiful 
sufferers. 

He  had  nearly  abandoned  the 
hope  of  finding  them,  when  the 
young  Venetian  noble,  whose 
claims  he  was  endeavouring  to  re- 
move,  surprised  him  by  a  visit.  He 
came  accompanied  by  a  Mamaluke 
of  the  bashaw's,  to   bring  him  a 


Ain'CNTURES  OF  A   GREEK    LADY. 


239 


proposal  from  that  pruice,  for  sell- 
ing a  great  number  of  black  slaves 
before  his  departure  for  his  new 
government,  to  wliich  as  lie  was 
already  named,  and  his  retinue 
and  equipage  ordered  to  attend 
him  in  eight  days,  he  could  give 
but  a  short  time  for  this  commission. 
The  merchant  could  oidy  feci  for 
the  distress  of  his  friend,  whom  he 
saw  on  the  point  of  being  hurried 
off  to  Persia  before  their  last  let- 
ters to  his  family  had  been  an- 
swered, for  increasing  the  ransom 
offered  for  him,  which  the  bashaw 
had  refused.  He  was  shocked  with 
the  visible  despair  in  his  friend's 
countenance,  and  was  encouraging 
him  to  hope  that  letters  might  yet 
reach  Constantinople  before  his 
departure,  when  he  was  surprised 
to  hear  him  declare,  that  the  arrival 
of  such  letters  could  not  relieve 
his  present  sufferings.  He  told 
the  merchant,  that  some  time  since 
the  bashaw  had  got  into  his  pos- 
session two  of  the  most  beautiful 
Georgians  he  had  ever  beheld, 
whom  he  purchased  of  Turkish 
robbers  near  Adrianople.  It  was 
at  first  thought  the  officer  who 
bought  them  would  have  fallen  in- 
to disgrace,  as  from  their  sufferings 
they  were  in  a  most  emaciated 
state.  He  had  paid  many  purses 
of  gold  for  them,  and  on  their  ar- 
rival it  was  feared  they  would  not 
recover  from  the  excessive  hard- 
^hips  they  had  endured  in  tlie  first 
part  of  their  journey  ;  but  as  they 
now  became  every  hour  more  beau- 
tiful, aiid  displayed  the  highest 
accomplishments,  the  bashaw  bad 
destined  one  of  them  for  himself, 
and  he  meant  to  send  her  sister  to 
his  brother,  a  prince  of  Evrivan. 
They  were   at    present,  he   said, 


confided  to  Zeleuca,  a  confidential 
Greek  woman  of  the  basliaw's  fa* 
mily  in  the  palace,  and  to  remain 
with  her  till  the  bashaw's  arrival 
in  Persia.  Zeleuca  was  a  Grecian 
slave,  who  had  been  a  long  time 
in  the  bashaw's  family,  and  had 
great  infiuence  with  him.  The 
Venetian  told  the  merchant,  that 
previous  to  the  bashaw's  u\()wed 
partiality  for  the  cUest,  he  liad  re- 
solved to  ])ay  his  ozcn  ransom  for 
their  liberty,  and  purchase  his 
freedom  some  other  way,  but  as  he 
was  now  certain  the  Turk  would 
not  part  with  them,  freedom,  he 
said,  was  become  indifferent  to 
him.  The  Armenian  endeavoured 
to  conceal  his  own  strong  emotions 
from  the  Venetian  youtli,  as  he  in- 
stantly conceived  these  were  the 
two  beautiful  sufferers  he  was  so 
earnestly  in  search  of.  He  soothed 
the  unhappy  youth,  entreating  him 
to  he  patient  and  secret,  and  ;;bove 
all  to  profit  no  more  of  any  oppor- 
tunity accident  might  furnish  him 
with,  of  seeing  or  speaking  to  the 
Georgians,  till  he  himself  should 
meet  with  him  again  at  the  ba- 
shaw's. The  youth  informed  him, 
that  owing  to  public  business,  the 
bashaw  would  not  take  his  family 
with  him,  and  a  Mamalnke  was  ap- 
pointed to  superintend  their  jour- 
ney, and  they  were  to  set  out  four 
days  after  the  prince.  The  young 
Venetian  then  parted  with  his 
friend  the  merchant,  and  rctlected 
with  surprise  on  the  uncommon 
agitation  that  he  seemed  tosnffer, 
and  his  earnestness  in  enjoir.ing 
him  to  avoid  seeing  more  of  the 
Georgians;  but  he  had  witnessed 
so  many  instances  of  generous  and 
kind  actions  in  tlic  merchant  during 
his  frequent  interviews  with  the 


amic^'fiMtd^ 


J.... 


bashaw,  tliat  he  had  conceived  the 
highest  esteem  tor  him,  and  there- 
fore determined  with  confidence 
to  put  himself  under  his  guidance. 
The  Armenian  having  commu- 
nicated his  suspicions  to  his  afflict- 
ed guest,  she  was  so  transported, 
that  she  would  instantly  have  gone 
to  embrace  her  children,  and  claim 
tliem  with  pravers  and  tears,  at  the 
feet  of  their  Turkish  master,  had 
not  her  friend  prevented  her  from 
so  rash  a  step.  He  reminded  her, 
that  with  every  reason  to  hope 
that  the  young  slaves  were  her 
children,  yet  it  was  not  fully  as- 
certained, and  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  deliberate  on  the  most  cau- 
tious and  possible  means  of  re- 
deeming them  should  they  prove 
so.  He  persuaded  her  to  leave  i 
their  fate  in  his  hands  for  a  few] 
days,  and  trust  to  his  endeavours  | 
to  work  out  their  deliverance.    He  !i 


knew  the  bashaw,  fond  of  popula- 
rity, feared  to  appear  severe  or 
lilijust;  yet  be  was  ferocious,  vio- 
lent in  his  passions,  and  prone  to 
secret  revenge,  and  was  one  a- 
mongst  the  most  powerful  officers 
of  his  rank  belonging  to  the  Porte : 
hut  as  avarice  was  the  leading  fea- 
ture in  his  character,  the  merchant 
nourished  a  faint  liope  of  placing 
the  children  in  their  mother's  arms 
again.  He  desired  her  to  give 
him  a  letter  open  for  her  daughter, 
which  he  would  endeavour  to  con- 
vey to  her  himself,  and  by  that 
means  discover  if  the  children  were 
her's  or  not.  The  account  he  had 
received  from  the  Venetian  left 
him  no  room  to  doubt  it;  but  to 
gain  their  confidence,  and  to  make 
them  a/uiie  acquainted  with  a  plan 
ior  their  escape,  seemed  almost  too 
difficult  to  accom.plish. 

(To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


^Mlit^srtVS^KJS  (9 


FASHIONS. 


>♦<•■ 


PLATE  22. — HALF  DRESS. 
A  GOWN  of  lilac  sarsnet,  cut  low 
round  the  bust,  which  is  trimmed 
wiih  pink  ribi)on,  disposed  so  as  to 
form  a  wreath  ;  the  shape  of  the 
back  is  marked  by  bands  of  pink, 
and  a  large  bow,  in  the  French 
style,  ornamcnls  the  middle  of  it  at 
bottom.  The  back  is  full;  a  plain 
light  front  forms  the  shape  in  a 
most  becoming  manner.  Long  (nil 
sleeve,  composed  of  clear  muslin, 
trimmed  at  the  wrist  with  a  sinjjle 
row  of  lace,  and  finislied  by  a  pink 
bow.  Fichu  to  correspond,  very 
full  trimmed  round  the  throat  with 
laee.  The  bottom  of  the  skirt  is 
edged  with  pink,  and  trimmed  with 


LONDON    F  A  S  H  I  O  N  S. 

a  single  flounce  of  blond  lace,  set 
on  very  full,  and  surmounted  by  a 
wreath  of  French  roses.  Coruette 
composed  of  fulie,  finished  by  a 
quilling  of  blond  round  the  face, 
and  fastened  by  a  pink  bow  under 
ihe  chin;  a  bow  to  correspond  or- 
naments it  on  the  forehead,  and  a 
l)unch  of  flowers  is  placed  very  far 
back  on  the  head.  The  style  of  this 
cornette,  tiiough  French,  is  so  sim- 
])ly  elegant  and  becoming,  that  we 
have  not  for  some  time  seen  any 
half-dress  cap  to  equal  it.  Plain 
gold  ornaments.  White  kid  gloves, 
and  white  kid  slippers  with  pink 
rosettes. 


]E[.AI^F       IDIRESS 


'3AJj,.,      ©RFSS 


GENEiaL  ouskuvationj;  on  fashion  and  uhess. 


241 


PLATE  •::.•>.— BALL  DIlESS.  .. 
A  gown,  coiDposed  of  wlute 
gauze,  of  an  exquisitely  beautiful 
and  glossy  texture:  it  is  worn  over 
a  maiden-blush  slip.  For  the  form 
of  the  dress,  which,  is  in  the  highest 
degree  novel  and  elegant,  we  refer 
our  readers  to  our  print.  The 
trimming  is  a  rich  rolliy  of  inter- 
mingled gauze  and  satin  at  the 
bottom  of  the  dress,  above  «  hich  is 
a  wreath  of  fancy  flowers,  and  this 
wreath  is  surmounted  by  white  sa- 
tin draperies :  the  general  eilect 
of  this  trimiiiing  is  uncommoidy 
tasteful  and  striking.  I'he  hair  is 
much  parted  en  the  forehead,  and 
dressetl  very  low  at  the  sides;  and 
the  hind  hair,  brought  a|Tverv  high, 
forms  a  tuft,  liead-dress,  a  wreath 
of  French  roses,  placed  so  as  appa- 
rently to  support  the  hind  hair. 
Necklace,  bracelets,  and  ear-rings 
of  pcail.  ^V'llite  kid  slippers  and 
gloves. 

^\'e  have  to  thank  the  condescen- 
sion of  a  lad}-,  one  of  our  subscri- 
bers, for  both  the  elegant  dresses 
w  Inch  we  have  given  this  month, 

GENERAL    OBSEKVATIONS    ON 
FASHION    AN])    DltESS. 

The  favourite  promenade  dress 
is  now  coniposed  of  Pomona  green  | 
sarsnet;  it  is  made  a  very  decorous  '' 
walking  length,  and  trimmed  with 
satin  some  shades  lighter  than  the  i 
dress:  the  trimming  is  about  half 
a  quarter  in  breadth;    it  is  dispose<J 
iiv  byas   flutings,    and    finished   at 
both  edges  with  pipes.     This  trim- 
ming is  in  very  bad  taste,  it  is  for- 
mal, not  at  all  ncnel,   and   has  no  i 
other  recommendation   liian  being 
fashionable.     The  body,  which  is 
the  same  length  in  the  waist  as  last  ; 
month,  is  plain  in  the  middle,  but  | 


very  full  at  each  side  of  the  back, 
and  is  ornamented  with  a  pelerine 
cape  of  a  novel  and  pretty  form: 
it  falls  nearly  as  low  as  tiie  waist,  is 
open  behind,  and  cut  in  points, 
which  cross  each  other;  itisbroun-ht 
very  low  round  the  bosom,  but  ki- 
stead  of  meeting,  it  iiies  back;  the 
ends  are  pointed, and  nearlv  a  quar- 
ter long;  it  is  made  quite  up  to 
the  throat,  but  without  a  collar. 
Plain  lung  sjci  ve,  finished  by  a  tri- 
ple quilling  of  byas  satin,  and  con- 
tined  at  the  urist  by  a  inind.  Vv'e 
should  have  observed,  that  the  pe- 
lerine is  trimmed  with  a  light  nar- 
row fluting  of  satin. 

The  materials  for  walking  dress 
are  various.  Sarsnet  and  poplin 
are  high  in  estimation,  and  cam- 
bric is  still  considered  elegant:  we 
observe  the  latter  is  in  general 
trimmed  with  two  or  three  flounces, 
lightly  en-broidered  in  colours; 
we  do  not  mean  an  intermixture, 
but  various  shades  of  the  same  co- 
lour:  evening  primrose,  dark  blue, 
and  greet),  are  most  in  favour.  A 
silk  scarf  or  spencer,  to  correspond 
with  the  trimming,  is  an  indispen- 
sable appendage  to  these  dresses, 
as  is  also  a  white  chip  or  straw 
bon,net,  trimmed  with  puilings  of 
white  satin,  tastefully  intermixeti 
with  cord  to  correspond  with  the 
trimming  of  the  dress,  and  a  bunch 
of  flowers  also  to  correspond.  The 
effect  of  these  dresses  is  very  ele- 
gant, and  they  are  well  calculated 
for  the  dress  promenade. 

For  carriage  dress,  the  Glom  es- 
ter bonnet  and  spt  nccr  l;ave  lost 
nothing  of  their  atti.iciion  since 
our  last  number.  White  satin  pc- 
li^ses,  trimmed  with  royal  purple 
satin,  are  also  fashionable;  and 
mantles,  so  long  exploded,  begiu 


242 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON   lASHION   AND    DRESS. 


to  be  seen :  they  are  worn,  how- 
ever, very  partially,  and  we  appre- 
hend those  belles  who  reckon  on 
their  revival  will  be  disappointed. 
We  have  seen  two,  one  composed 
of  spotted  silk,  lined  with  white 
sarsnet,  and  trimmed  with  white 
satin ;  the  other  a  rich  purple  and 
■white  shot  sarsnet,  trimmed  with 
lace.  One  of  these  mantles  was  cut 
entirely  byas  ;  it  was  short,  and 
hung  very  gracefully  round  the 
figure:  the  cape,  exactly  of  the 
shape  of  a  half-handkerchief,  was 
cut  round  in  scollops,  and  a  full 
puffing  of  satin  went  round  the 
throat.  We  must  observe,  that  col- 
lars are  entirely  exploded,  and 
ruffs  continue  to  be  an  indispensa- 
ble part  of  walking  or  carriage 
dress. 

Muslin  still  continues  to  be  the 
most  fashionable  article  for  morn- 
ing dress.    The  most  tonish  dresses 
are  those  made  about  a  quarter  of 
a  yard  shorter  than  the  petticoat: 
they  are  gored,  and  the  body  and 
skirt  is  formed  of  one  piece;  the 
back  is  very  full;  they  are  open  in 
front,  and  made  up  to  the  throat, 
but  \Aithouta  collar  :  the}' are  trim- 
med  round    with   the    fashionable 
work  which  resembles  point  lace, 
and    the   petticoat    has    a    double 
flounce  to  correspond.  The  sleeve, 
which  is  long  and  very  loose,  has  a 
triple   fall   of  work   at   the  wrist. 
These  dresses,  fashionable  and  ex- 
pensive as  they  are,  have,  at  a  dis- 
tance,  an    uncommonly   ludicrous 
effect;  the  trimming  being  pointed, 
and  worked  in  holes,  has  the  ap- 
pearance,   especially   when    there 
are  so  many  falls  of  it,  of  being  ac- 
tually in  rags.     The  elegant  dis- 
habille which   we    noticed    in   our 
last  number  is  still  in  favour,  and, 


though  not  so  fashionable  as  the 
one  which  we  have  just  described, 
is  more  generally  adopted  by  ele- 
gantes of  taste. 

Plain  and  worked  muslin  is  still 
worn  in  dinner  dress,  as  are  also 
sarsnets.  Clear  muslin  bodies, 
made  half-high,  and  exquisitely 
worked,  are  much  in  favour  for  din- 
ner parties ;  they  are  worn  either 
with  a  skirt,  worked  round  the  bot- 
tom to  correspond,  or  a  sarsnet 
one,  trimmed  with  an  intermixture 
of  white  patent  net  and  ribbon,  dis- 
posed in  draperies,  which  has  a 
very  light  and  elegant  effect.  We 
have  not  for  some  time  seen  any 
thing  so  tasteful  as  these  worked 
bodies  and  silkskirts  ;  'tis  true  they 
do  not  offer  any  actual  novelty,  but 
at  this  time  of  the  year  our  fair  vo- 
taries of  fashion  do  not  rack  either 
their  own  invention  or  their  mar- 
cltaudes  des  niodch  for  n ovel  ty .  Belles 
of  good  taste  profit  by  the  licence 
which  fashion  at  this  season  gives, 
to  wear  what  they  consider  most 
elegant  and  becoming— these  dress- 
es are  both :  they  answer  also  a  bet- 
ter purpose  than  that  of  adorning 
the  wearer,  by  the  liberal  encou- 
ragement they  afford  to  female  in- 
dustry. Fine  work  is  now  in  very 
considerable  estiniation  for  all  those 
parts  of  female  attire  for  which  it 
can  be  worn  ;  and  we  have  seen 
some,  particularly  the  bodies  wliich 
we  have  just  noticed,  the  effect  of 
which  is  fully  equal  to  lace.  Fichus^ 
or  half-high  bodies,  are  now  uni- 
versally adopted  for  dinner  cos- 
tume, as  are  also  long  sleeves.  We 
observe  that  backs,  which  had  de- 
creased a  little  in  breadth,  have 
again  expanded.  Dresses  conti- 
nue to  be  very  becomingly  made 
about  the  shoulders;  they  only  fall 


te 


< 


rjkSHlONAULK    PURiNlTl/UE. 


U3 


»uf)iciently  to  give  an  appeuiance 
of  ease  to  tlie  shape. 

Wliite  gau/e  and  while  net  are 
most  ju  estimation  tor  full  dress; 
crapes,  especially  coloured  ones, 
are  very  litile  seen.  The  ravoiniic 
form  is  a  gown,  cut  low  all  round 
the  bosom  and  back  of  the  neck, 
tight  to  the  shape  in  iVont,  and  a 
considerable  fulness  both  in  the 
body  and  skirt  behind.  Short 
sleeves,  are  worn  very  short,  very 
full,  and  in  general  draj^critd  with 
sdk  or  pearl  ornaments.  Blood  is 
still  worn  for  trimmings;  but  we 
think  that  the  same  material  as  the 
dress,  fancifully  intermixed  ,  with 
ribbon,  small  pipes  of  satin,  or  satin 


able  both  for  morning  and  half 
jdress.  Oneof  ihe  prettiest  morn- 
ing caps  which  we  have  seen,  is  a 
small  mob,  composed  of  alternate 
strips  of  British  net  and  letting-in 
lace;  the  former  i'ull,  and  the  latter 
plain:  it  is  trimmed  round  the  lop 
of  the  crown  wuIj  lace,  set  on  very 
lull ;  the  ends  are  cut  very  narrow, 
and  placed  very  far  back  :  it  has  a 
single  border  of  lace,  set  on  very 
full,  and  a  large  bow  of  white  satin 
ribbon  pinned  a  little  to  one  side. 
For  the  mostelegant  half-dress  cap, 
we  must  refer  our  readers  to  our 
print,  as  we  have  seen  nt.'ihing  so 
tasteful  or  becoming. 

We  have  no  alteration  to  notice 


wreaths  of  leaves,  is  more  u,enerally  K  either  in  plain  dressing  or  orna 

adopted.      Embroidery    is  still  in  I  akentSL  for  the  hair  since  last  monih. 

much    request,    as    are    also   long  i       In  half-dress  jewellery  gold  or 


wreaths  of  artificial  flowers.  Dress- 
es are  still  trimmed  very  high, 
which  is  a  great  disadvantage  to 
under-sized  belles. 
^^^^,When  dresses  are  trimmed  with 
embroidery,  they  are  frequently 
worn  with  a  white  satin  brace,  em- 
broidered to  correspond  :  the  form 


naiTients  alone  are  adopted.  Cor- 
nelian, which  was  high  in  estima- 
tion when  mixed  with  gold,  has  de- 
clined for  some  time  past,  and  is 
now  exploded.  Gold  ornaments 
are  now  very  expensive,  because 
the  workmanship  of  them  is  so  ex- 
tremely elegant.     The  Frencli  no 


_- J. .  —     —  — ..-     _,    —  ^ 

of  this  brace  is  different  to  any  j  longer  retain  their  pre-eminenceiii 
ihing  that  has  yet  been  introduced;  !j  jewellery ;  and  we  are  happy  to  say, 
it  forms  a  point  beliind,  crosses  in  I^  that  French  trinkets  are  much  less 
front,  and  is  cut  out  on  each  bre*ist  j  vvom  than,  they  have  been. 


so  as  to  display  the  uuderrdre^i  it 
is,  in  our  opinion,  highly  advanta- 
geous to  the  shape.  -    -. .      i 
Corncttes  continue  very  fasbioiVr 


ottfadhionable  colours  for  tbemonth 
.ane^  Pomoiia  green,  dark  and  azure 
blae,  evening  primrose,  peach-co- 
lotuvaud  laveivderv 


;.iu  s 


FASHIONABLE  t^-y^Nltyi^E;.. 

I'LATli    -20.— MON.\    MARBLE    ClIIMNEY-PiECE.  . 

The  Mona  marble  has  so  consi-  '  receive  the  ornanicj.ts  of  bronze, 
derably  increased  in  reputation  and  :'  or-molu,or  bhule,Math  vyhich  these 
fashion,  that  no  apology  wt.-cX  be  chimney-pieces  are  usually  orna- 
offered  for  presenting  our  readers  mented  fur  a|)arLments  of  superior 
with  the  annexed  design,  which  i  decoration.  From  the  circumstance 
shews  the  simple  forms  proper  tQ  ;  of  this  simplicity  of  design,  tliey 

rot.  II.  No.  X.  K  K 


iU 


INTELLlGENCEj    LITERAllY,   SCIENTIFIC,   &C. 


are  manufactured  at  prices  calcu-  i;  of  the  Mona  marble,  and  from  the 


lated  to  supersede  similar  works  in 


they  have  a  considerable  advantage, 
from  the  beautifully  variegated  tints 


circumstance  of  its  preserving  the 


foreign  white  marbles,  over  which  1  original  freshness  of  effect,  which 


statuary  loses  in  a  few  years. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERAllY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


The  Rev.  C.  Colton  is  prepa- 
ring a  work,  under  the  expressive 
title  of  Many  Things  in  few  PVords, 
addressed  to  fewer  persons  who 
think. 

J  Dian/  of  a  Journey  into  North 
Wales,  by  thclate  Dr.  Samuel  John- 
son, printed  from  the  original  MS. 
in  his  own  hand-writing,  together 
with  a  fac-simile  of  a  part  of  the 
manuscript,  edited,  with  illustrative 
notes,  by  Mr.  Duppa,will  be  speed- 
ily published. 

Mr.  Mudie  is  about  to  publish  a 
grand  Series  of  Forty  Medals,  com- 
memorating British  victories  under 
the  Duke  of  Wellington;  a  work 
which  will  enrich  the  cabinet  of 
the  amateur  with  a  class  of  art  but 
little  known  in  this  country,  and 
which  will  deliver  down  to  posterity 
an  elegant  and  energetic  record  of 
the  glorious  events  which  have  so 
highly  exalted  our  national  cha- 
racter. 

Sermons  on  interesting  Subjects,  by 
the  late  Rev.  James  Scott,  D.D. 
rector  of  Simonburn,  Northumber- 
land, and  Fellow  of  Trinity  Col- 
lege, Cambridge,  are  in  the  press. 
Mr.  T.  Lester,  of  Finsbury- 
place,  is  preparing  for  publication, 
in  monthly  numbers.  Illustrations 
of  London,  containing  a  series  of 
cn«;raved  views  and  delineations 
of  antiquarian,  architectural,  and 
other  subjects  in  the  metropolis, 
with  historical  and  topographical 
descriptions. 


The  Rev.  John  Bruce,  of  New- 
port, is  printing  Juvenile  /InecdoteSf 
designed  for  the  moral  and  reliy;ious 
instruction  of  the  rising;  2;enera- 
tion. 

Mr.  Robert  Fellows,  of  St.  Mary 
Hall,  Oxford,  has  in  the  press,  A 
Historic  of  Ceylon,  from  the  earliest 
period  to  the  year  1815;  with  cha- 
racteristic details  of  the  people. 

Mr.  T.  Dibdin  is  preparing  for 
the  press.  The  posthumous  dramatic 
Pieces  of  the  late  Mr.  Benjamiii- 
Thompson,  accompanied  with  a  co- 
pious memoir,  in  two  octavo  vo- 
lumes. 

The  Rev.  Joseph  Hunter,  of 
Bath,  proposes  to  print  in  a  quarto 
volume,  with  suitable  embellish- 
ments, yJnnals  and  a  Topographical 
Survey  of  the  Parish  of  Shefjield,  or 
UallanisJiire ;  with  many  original, 
biographical,  and  bibliographical 
notices. 

Mr.  Matthew  Gregson,  of  Liver- 
pool, is  printing,  in  a  small  folio 
volume.  Fragments  of  the  History  of 
the  County  of  Lancaster,  with  nume- 
rous engra\ings. 

Mr.  Charles  Peter  Whitaker, 
formerly  of  the  University  of  Got- 
tingen,  and  professor  of  lan- 
guages, is  preparing  for  publica- 
tion, A  new  Grammar  of  the  French 
Language,  on  a  plan  perfectly  ori- 
giiuil,  intended  for  the  use  of  those 
who  wish  to  acquire  a  speedy  and 
grammatical  knowledge  of  modern 
French ;  to  be  interspersed  with  in«^ 


INTELLIGENCn;,   LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,   &C. 


245 


genious  exercises  and  examples, 
illustrative  of  the  peculiar  con- 
struction and  idiom  of  the  lan- 
guage: the  whole  calculated  to  fa- 
cilitate the  acquirement  of  gram- 
naatical  rules,  without  the  unne- 
cessary fatigue  and  perplexity  of 
the  old  system. 

Miss  D.  P.  Campbell,  a  young 
lady,  resident  in  one  of  the  north- 
ernmost isles  of  Scotland,  who,  for 
some  years  past,  has  contributed 
to  the  maintenance  of  a  distressed 
mother,  and  supported  entirely  by 
her  own  exertions  a  younger  bro- 
ther and  sister,  proposes,  in  further- 
ance of  that  support,  to  publish  a 
volume  of  Poews;  the  greater  part 
of  which  were  originally  written 
without  the  view  of  ever  extending 
them  beyond  the  small  circle  of  her 
own  acquaintance,  until  severe  and 
accumulated  misfortunes  compel- 
led her  to  offer  them  to  the  public. 
An  edition  of  these  poems  was 
published  at  Inverness  in  1811, 
when  the  authoress  had  not  yet  at- 
tained her  17th  year,  for  the  amia- 
ble purpose  of  liberating  her  fa- 
ther from  a  prison.  That  beloved 
parent  is  since  dead  ;  and  the  help- 
less situation  in  which  he  left  his 
family,  has  induced  his  unhappy 
daughter  to  attempt,  by  subscrip- 
tion, the  publishing  of  a  second 
edition  of  her  works,  considerably 
improved  and  enlarged,  in  one  vo- 
lume 8vo. 

Major  Hawker,  of  Long  Parish 
House,  Hampshire,  has  ready  for 
publication,  a  work  entitled.  In- 
structions to  Young  Sportsmen.  It 
comprises  a  gentlemanlike  code  of 
precepts  for  the  conduct  of  the 
sportsman  in  every  department  of 
his  amusements — points  out  the 
minutiae  of  a  good  gun  and  shooting 


tackle,  gives  directions  for  choosiufi 
and  training  dogs,  with  the  best 
remedies  for  their  various  diseases; 
and  in  enumerating  the  various 
species  of  what  is  called  game,  the 
author  has  made  some  valuable  ad- 
ditions to  our  present  stock  of 
knowledge  in  natural  history,  par- 
ticularly in  British  ornithology. 
The  work  concludes  with  a  clear 
and  succinct  abstract  of  the  game 
laws,  which  must  be  of  incalculable 
service  to  all  those  who  wish  to 
avoid  lawsuits  and  live  on  good 
terms  with  their  neighbours  ;  and 
is  enriched  with  splendid  engra- 
vings by  Lowry. 

The  following  arrangements  have 
been  made  for  Lectures  at  the 
Surry  Institution,  during  the  en- 
suing season  :  —  1.  On  Chemistry, 
by  John  Murray,  Esq.  to  commence 
on  Tuesday,  Nov.  12,  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening  precisely, 
and  to  be  continued  on  each  suc- 
ceeding Tuesday. — 2.  On  Aeros- 
tation, by  John  Sadler,  Esq.  to  be 
delivered  on  Frida}'  evenings,  Nov. 
15th  and  22d,atthe  same  hour. — 3. 
On  the  Principles  and  practical 
Application  of  Perspective,  byJohu 
George  Wood,  Esq.  to  commence 
on  Friday,  the  20ib  of  November, 
and  to  be  continued  on  each  suc- 
ceeding Friday,  at  the  same  hour. — 
4.  On  Astronou)}',  by  John  Milling- 
ton,  Esq.  civil  engineer,  to  com- 
mence in  January,  1817. — 5.  On 
Music,  by  W.  Crotch,  M.  D.  Pro- 
fessor of  Music  in  the  University 
of  Oxford,  to  commence  in  Febru- 
ary, 1817. 

Messrs.  Netlam  and  Giles,  of 
New  Inn,  have  issued  proposals  for 
publishing  by  subscription,  a  new 
Map  of  the  county  palatine  of  Lan- 
caster, from  an  actual  survey,  upoD 
Kk2 


246 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITEKAUY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


the  basis   of  the  Trigonometrical 
Survey  of  Enghind,  as  determined 
by    Lieutenant  -  Colonel    William 
Mudge,    of    t!ie   Royal    Artilkny, 
F.R.  S,  and  Captain  Tlionias  Col- 
by, of  the  Hoyal  Engineers;  at  a 
scale  of  one  inch  to  a  mile.     The 
trigonometrical     survey     is    com- 
menced, and  will  he  executed  en- 
tirely i)y  Messrs.  Netlam  and  Giles 
themselves,  and  tlie  general  survey 
of  the  interior  will  be  carried  on  by 
them  and  assistants.    That  thesub-  1 
scribers  and  the  public  may  besa-  ' 
lisiied  of  the  autlienticity  of  the  I 
survey,  they  propose  to  publish  a  | 
memoir  of  the  angles,  and   their 
computations,  by  which  the  rela- 
tive distances  of  the  principal  ob- 
jects in   the  county  will  be  deter- 
mined, and  t'liC  process  of  the  work 
explained,     it  gives  us  pleasui'e  to 
observe,  that  upwards  of  seven  hun- 
dred subscribers hiive already  given 
their  suj)port  to  this  undertaking. 

Mr,  Edward  Heard  has  invented 
a  chemical  re-aoent,  bv  which  he 
renders  salt-water  capable  of  wash- 
ing and  cooking.  Various  experi- 
ments have  beeu  tried  with  it  in 
the  navy,  under  the  direction  of 
the  Board  of  Admiralty,  with  suc- 
cess. If  adopted,  it  would  promote 
cleanliness  among  our  seamen,  the 
principal  requisite  for  the  preser- 
vation of  health  ;  remove  the  lead- 
ing causes  of  contagion  on  ship- 
board from  dirty  garments,  beds, 
and  bedding  ;  and  afford  means  to 
passengers  of  washing  weekly,  if 
necessary,  and  lessen  the  amount 
and  expenses  of  equipment. 

Some  remarkable  c^ses  have 
lately  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
medical  gentlemen,  from  which  it 
appears,  that  magnesia,  when  taken 
\n  powder,  as  is  commonly  done;, 


has  remained  in  the  system  com- 
bined   with    animal    mucus,    and 
formed  tumours  and  concretions  of 
considerable  size.     Two  instances 
of    this   kind    are    stated    by    Mr. 
Brande,  in  the  last  number  of  the 
Journal  of  Science  and  the  Arts. 
In   the  one  case,  a  concretion  of 
magnesia  and  mucus,  weigtiing  se- 
\eral  pounds,  was  taken  out  of  the 
intestines  after  death     Intheother 
case,  the  magnesia  was  ultimately 
evacuated    in    the    state   of  sand, 
which,  on  analysis,  was  found  to  be 
the     subcarbonate     of    magnesia. 
Magnesia  is  proved,  by  the  experi- 
ments of  the  most  eminent  chemists, 
to  be  the  best  corrective  of  the  uric 
acid,  which  is  the  principal  cause 
oi"  the  gout  and  of  caiculary  com- 
plaints.    A  valuable  improvement 
in  the  mode  of  preparing  this  me- 
dicine has   been   lately    made   by 
Messrs.  Bakewell   and  Co.  Tavis- 
tock-street,    Bedford -square  ;    the 
magnesia  being  lield  in   a  state  of 
perfect  solution  in  their  magnesian 
water,  whereby  the  possible  injury 
or  inconvenience  of  taking  it  in  the 
form  of  powder  is  entirely  obviated. 
The  water  is  as  brisk  and  pleasant 
as   the  best  soda-water;    and  the 
magnesia  is  rendered  mild,  light, 
and  easy  to  the  stomach,  being  held 
in  solution  by  fixed  air,  or  the  car- 
bonic acid. 

The  lectures  held  by  Dr.  Spurz- 
heim  in  England,  have  drawn  con- 
siderable attention  to  the  system  of 
craniology,  founded  by  Dr.  Gall. 
To  such  of  our  readers  as  are  inter- 
ested in  this  subject,  the  following 
notice  of  a  volume  in  imperial  folio, 
just  pul^lished  at  Munich,  by  Dr. 
Spi.x,  will  be  acceptable.  It  is 
'entitled,  Ceplui  logenesis,  she  Capitis 
'  ossei  Structuru,  Formatio  et  Sigtiifi-' 


POETRY. 


247 


calio,  Sfc.  The  head  is  here  con- 
sidered in  its  evolutions  through- 
out the  whole  series  of  animals, 
from  man  to  the  insects,  at  all 
periods  of  life,  from  the  embryo  to 
old  age.  Its  relations  to  the  other 
parts  of  the  human  hody,  and  its 
functions  as  the  principal  organ 
of  the  soul,  are  illustrated  in  a  new- 
manner;  and  the  work  contains 
also  a  critical  review  of  all  that  has 
appeared  on  the  subject.  Of  the 
prints,  nine  arc  sr.aded,  and  nine 
in  outline  for  demonstration.  They 
are  from  drawings  on  stone  l)y  the 
masterly  pencil  of  Koeck,  painter 
to  the  academy  of  Miinich,  cele- 
brated for  his  admirable  designs 
for  the  works  of  Summering,  Wen- 
zel,  Fischer,  &c.  '^lliey  exhibit 
exact  representations  of  the  skulls 
pf  animals  of  all  classes,  and  afford 
an  accurate  medium  of  comparison, 
which  discovers  the  laws  followed 


jl  by  nature  in  the  formation  of  the 
||  difierent  varieties  of  the  head.     By 

I  the  evidence  of  these  laws  the  au- 
'  thor  has  attempted  to  solve  the 
r  wonderful  problem  involved  in  the 
il  structure,  composition,  and  pro- 
r  portion  of  that  part  of  the  animal 

I I  frame.  Psychology  will  thus  ob- 
I  tain  a  true  foundation  in  nature 
[  itself;  cranioscopy  and  physiog- 
;  nomy  will  be  reduced  by  some  new 
jj  measures  to  laws  both  simple  and 
Ij  comj)rehensive;  zoology  will  be 
ji  enriched  with  views  and  principles 

of  the  greatest  importance  with 
respect  to  the  classilication  of  ani- 
mals ;  and  the  whole  of  natural 
history  will  be  improved  by  the 
discovery  of  an  organic  law,  hither- 
to overlooked,  which  the  author 
calls  Lex  circuilus  u/ganonim.  This 
curious  and  interesting  work  may 
be  inspected  at  Mr.  Ackermann's. 


^oetrj?* 


WATERLOO. 


From  conquer'd  Ligny's  cruel  field. 
Where  shiuter'd  was  t'.ir  Priis<ia's  shield. 
In  confident  presumption  steel'd, 

March  the  fierce  French  exniiinglv. 

With  sanguine  and  contemptuous  v'xhw, 
They  trace  the  steps  of  England's  few 
In  proud  pursuit  to  WaTerlnn, 

And  call  them  theirs  undoubiinglv. 

Pride- blinded  men!   deem  it  not  dread 
The  island  lion's  backward  tread; 
What,  if  he  couch  his  fearless  head, 
'Tis  but  to  spring  more  mightily  ! 

Nor  wish  for  morn,  nor  idly  dread 
To  find  with  night  the  Wcileslev  fled  ; 
The  ground  to-night  that  yields  a  bed. 
Gives  him  a  grave  or  victory  ! 


That  tempest- troubled  night  is  gone; 
Each  deadly  preparation  done; 
And  now  the  carnage-craving  gun 

Bids  to  the  battle  horribly! 
On  comes  the  furious  Gaul — they  close  ; 
Fire  answers  fire  ;  blows  earn  but  blows; 
No  breach  those  living  walls  disclose — 

Vain  their  impetuosity! 
Forward  their  usurpation's  best  ! 
Iron  of  heart,  in  iron  ve*t — 
'Tis  vain — they  may  not  bifle  the  test 

Of  naked  British  bravery  ! 
Then  pourthy  all  into  the  fray. 
Desperate!  and  yet  retrieve  the  dav; — 
Beholfl,  that  terrible  arrnv, 

Hankless,  return  discomfited! 
And  where  is  he  for  whom  ihey  bleed  ? 
The  proufi  in  word,  and  base  in  deed. 
Fixing  his  fate  upon  his  steed, 

He  flies  the  field  disgractfoHv. 


248 


POETRY. 


Where  peace- entreating  Europe's  claim  ? 
Accomplish'd  iu  one  day  of  fame! 
Emblazoning  thy  glorious  name, 
O  concord-conqu'ring  Wellington ! 

Where  they  in  freedom's  cause  who  died, 
Their  country's  sorrow  and  her  pride? 
E'en  as  they  fought,  so,  side  by  side. 
Still  lie  the  brothers  brotherly. 

And  side  by  side  shall  they  be  seen, 
In  England's  roll  of  triumphs  been. 
And  nurs'd  with  English  tears,stiU  green. 
Shall  bloom  their  wreaths  eternally  ! 
F.C.S. 


REFLECTIONS. 

Ah  !  who  has  power  to  say 
To-morrow's  sun  shall  warmer  glow. 
And  o'er  this  gloomy  vale  of  woe 

Diffuse  a  brighter  ray  ? 

Ah  !  who  is  ever  sure, 
Thoiigh  all  that  can  the  soul  delight, 
This  hour  enchants  the  wond'ring  sight, 

'J'hese  raptures  will  endure? 

Is  there,  in  life's  dull  toil. 
One  certain  moment  of  repose. 
One  ray  to  dissipate  our  woes. 

And  bid  Reflection  smile? 

We  seek  Hope's  gentle  aid; 
We  think  the  lovely  phantom  pours 
Her  balmy  incense  on  those  flow'rs 

Which  blossom  but  to  fade! 

We  court  Love's  thrilling  dart. 
And  when  we  think  our  joys  supreme. 
We  find  its  raptures  but  a  dream. 

Its  boon  a  wounded  heart ! 

We  pant  for  glitt'ring  fame^  MiolrMv? 
And,  when  pale  Envy  blots  the  |!»a^'  " 
That  might  have  charm'd  a  future  age. 

We  find  'tis  but  a  name ! 

W^e  toil  for  paltry  ore. 
And  when  we  gain  the  golden  prize. 
And  Death  appears,  with  aching  eyes 

We  view  the  useless  store  ! 

How  frail  is  Beauty's  bloom! 
The  dimpled  cheek,  the  sparkling  eye — 
Scarce  seen,  before  their  wonders  tly. 

To  decorate  a  tomb  ! 


Then  since  this  fleeting  breath 
Is  bat  the  zephvr  of  a  day. 
Let  Conscience  make  each  minute  gay. 

And  brave  the  shafts  of  Death! 

And  let  the  gen'rous  mind 
With  pity  view  the  erring  throng. 
Applaud  the  right,  forgive  the  wrong. 

And  feel  for  all  mankind  ! 

For  who,  alas  I  shall  say, 
"  To-morrow's  sun  shall  brighter  glow. 
And  o'er  this  gloomy  vale  of  woe 

Diffiise  a  brighter  ray?" 

Somerset. 


DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  PASSEN- 
GER  AND  A  TURTLE. 

Passenger. 
Why,  pretty  Turtle,  dost  thou  mourn 
Within  this  lonely  grove? 
/.V>  J  Turtle. 

I've  lost,  alas  !  my  only  joy. 
The  partner  of  my  love. 
Passenger. 
Art  not  afraid  the  fowler's  hand 
Thy  blood,  like  his,  should  spill? 
Turtle. 
Ah,  no  !  for  if  he  kills  me  not. 
Incessant  sorrow  will. 

Somerset. 


EPIGRAM 

On  the  Statue  of  Venus. 

Such  mimic  charms   in  every  feature 
shone. 

With  such  perfection  glow'd  the  breath- 
ing stone. 

That  lovely  Venus,  stooping  from  the 
skies, 

Exclaim'd,  whilst  wonder  fix'd  her  sted- 
fast  eyes, 

"  Alas !  for  me,  if  such  superior  grace 

Had  beam'd  in  Juno's  or  Minerva's  face, 

Venus  had  claim'd  the  golden  prize  in 
vain, 

Ax\A  fled  unhononr'd  from  th'  Idalian 
plain." 

R.  N.  D. 


L,  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


«     9     •      'tDf'.    J 


THK 


B^eposiitorp 


OP 


ARTS,    LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

ManuJ'aclures^  S^c, 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


November  1,  IBIO. 


N«  XI. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 
Cottage  Orne     .... 
Vitw  OF  THE  Waterloo  Bridge 
Ladies'   Morning  Dress 

Evening  Dress 

An  English  Bed 

Pattern   eor  Needle- Work. 


PAGE 
,  249 
,  288 
,  209 
ib. 
.     305 


CON^TENTS. 

PAGE 


FINE  ARTS. 

Ari  Iiilectural  Hints  — Description  of  a 
Cotla^te  Orue — Observations  on  the 
Dry-Rot  in  Buildings 349 

Architectural  Review.  —  Description  of 
V'auxhall  Bridu,e 252 

Chroiiologieal  Survey  of  the  most  eminent 
Artists  to  the  Commenecmeul  of  the 
Sixteenth  Century. —  Painters;  Period 
in  wliich  they  flourished;  principal 
Works  and  Merits 054 

THE  DOMESTIC    COMMON- 
PLACK-BOOK. 

How  to  preserve  tlic  Eyes;  General  Rules 
for  the  C'lioice  of  Spcctarli-s,  and  "(le- 
ihod  of  judging  under  what  Ciicum- 
8tances  the  Eyesigiit  may  be  a..sisted 
by  Glasses 

Pipparation  of  Golrl  and  Siher  Bronze    . 

Proc'ss  of  removing  Spots  of  Oil  and 
Greast- fii>m  Books  anci  Prints 

Method  of  rlesiroying  or  driving  away 
ILarth-woi  nis,  Caterpillars,  and  other 
Insects  hurtl'ul  to  Fields  and  Gardens 

Process  of  iiiiikiiig  Stilton  Cheese  . 

Persian  Mdhod  of  inlaying  engraved  .Sil- 
ver with  a  durable  bhick  I'liiamc'l 

Preservation  of  CJunpowder 265 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES 
AND  ANECDOTES 

Memoir  of  Mary  de  Medicis,  by  Madame 
de  Gen  LIS 

MISCELLANIES. 

On  the  Nature  and  Use  of  Day-iiglit,  a 
recent  Discovery  in  the  Tine  Arts    . 

History  of  Louisa  Lovewoilb     .... 

The  Story  c.f  Esuj.ib,  or  the  Man  who  was 
born  too  late "...  28 1 


258 
262 

2G3 


263 

20  4 


ib. 


26fi 


2C9 
277 


The  Female  Tattler.— No.  XI 

Desdiption  of  the  Waterloo  Bridge    .     . 
Adventures  of  a  Legacy- Hunti-ess  .     .     . 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Klose's  "  Waters  of  Elle"         .... 

■  The  Tuscan's  Iiivncalion       ,     . 

Gildon's  Duet  for  one  Piano- Forte 

Davy's  Duet  for  the  Harp  and  Piano- 
Forte       

RiEs's  Rondo 

Kiallmakk's  •'  Now  each  Tie  of  Love 
IS  broken" 

Kalkbren'Ner's  Souata 

HoDsoLL's  Duets 

CoRRi's  "  F.mma's  Cot" 

BURROWES' '*  The  Lothian  Lassie" 

l)RoiiKT.«'  Three  Waltzes  for  two  Flutes 

Beczh  arzowskt's  Saxe-Cobourg    . 

THE  SELECTOR. 

Adventures  of  a  Greek  Lady,  from  TCL- 
LY'S  Narrative  of  a  Residtncc  at  Tripoli 
(concluded)       

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions. —  Morning  Dress  — 
Evening  Dress 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 

French  Female  Fashions 

Fashiouable  Furniture.— An  English  Bed 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
AND  SCIENTIFIC     .... 

POETRY. 

To  T.  Campbell,  en  reading  his  "  Plea- 
sun  s  01"  Hope" 

Sorrow 


'AGE 

.  2d4 
.  2»8 
.   289 


29» 
ih. 
ib. 


204 

ib. 


395 
ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

297 


299 

300 
.102 
3U5 


309 
310 


L   Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


Armlmfiq^M, 


TO  OUR  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musicnl  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  uorks  which  they  may  have  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert 
them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  JSeiv  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  du/y  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  new  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

The  favours  of  Mrs.  Serres,  Oscar,  t^c.  shall  have  a  place  in  our  next. 

The  Admirin2[  Bachelor's  Enigmatical  List  of  handsome  young  Ladies  at' 
Stonehouse  appears  to  us  to  be  very  deficient  in  that  precision  which  is  essentially  rc'^ 
quisitcfor  any  successful  attempt  at  explanation,    ^^.^bn^;!  ddi  >,'iuui   Wn  i 

The  Publisher  of  the  Repository  acknowledges  the  regti^,loJ[ ^ints  of  A  Well- 
wisher,  and  hopes  to  be  able  to  profit  by  them.  .  . , .  . 

The  writer  of  the  ingenious  paper  On  the  Nature  and  Use  of  Day-light  in  the 
Fine  Arts,  given  in  our  present  Number,  authorizes  us  to  assure  our  readers,  that  the 
Notes  to  that  article  shall  be  forwarded  in  time  for  bur  next  publication.      ^  -''^■' '  -■^^''^ 

•  •S.-v    '■  ..  vuMS:;  -'^   ii  lo   fe3lC»;S3 

^!r'nri8  Jujii  3r,<ftff:)  JR  tn  fbc= 
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Post-Ofiice,  atNo.  yi,  Sherborne- Lane ;  to  Hamburgh,  Lisbon,  Cadiz,  Gibraltar,  Malta,  or 
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TLitt-.  Z 


(T-  (f);  TT T'/V.  n  "ff^    ''n^'T?  ^-T I'-' 


THi: 


BeposJitorp 


OF 


ARTS,  literaturf:,  fashions, 

Manufactures^  ^c. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  n. 


November  1,  1816. 


N^  XI. 


FINE  ARTS. 

ARCHITECTURAL    H  I  N  T  S. 

PLATE    2-5.  —  CCITTAGE    ORNK. 

To  combine  utility  witli  pictu-  ,  liarity  of  character,  that  probahi\ 
resque  beauty  at  a  nioilcrate  ex- 


j;)erjse  in  buildings  of  this  descrip- 


would  not  have  been  tlie  result  of 
premeditation.    This  mode  of  pro- 


tion,  is  at  all  times  the  endeavour     ccedino;,    however,    in    which    the 

of  the  architect;  he  is  aware  that 

agreeable    appearances    must    be 

obtained,  but  that  it  is  improper  to  j  suited  to  regular  architecture;  in 


convenience    of    arrangement    is 
made  to  govern  the  design,  is  not 


sacrifice  to  them  the  real  conveni: 
encies  of  a  dwelling,  or  to  obtain 


i  it  the  proportions  of  the  various 
forms  and  dispositions  of  the  seve- 


boi'h  at  a  charge  that  should  be-  !  ral  parts  are  adjusted  by  severities 
long  only  to  buildings  of  greater  [I  of  rule,  which  make  the  contrary 
pretensions.  This,  consideration  ;'  practice  indispensable:  and  it  was 
has  led  to  the  devising  of  irretru-  this  circumstance,  not  less  than  the 
lar  [jlans  for  the  cottage  erne,  in  ,  desire  of  pleasing  by  theintroduc- 
which    symmetrical    arrangements  ')  tion  of  a  novelty,  that  induced  the 


of  pure  architecture  are  not  ob- 
served, and  the  parts  are  then  so 
disposed  as  to  form  pleasing  corn- 


late  Mr.  W'yatt  to  cultivate  that  pe- 
culiar style,  which  he  formed  from 
a  mixture  of  the  castle  style  with 


binations  of  form,  in  which,  of  |  tliat  of  the  conventual  and  cathe- 
course,  some  intricacy  occurs,  and  ,  dral  Gothic  ;  for  being  about  to 
to  produce  varied  elVects  of  light  |  make  consideral)le  additions  to 
and  shadow.  Additions  to  old  j  buildings  containing  very  noble 
buildings  are  sometimes  made  in  |j  apartments,  so  disjjosed  as  to  be 
this  way,  with  great  advantage  to  l|  iniinical  to  architectural  symmetry, 
the  convenience  of  tl.-e  interior  of  j  he  reverted  to  the  practice  of  the 
the  house  and  to  the  beauty  of  the  ,  early  architects  of  our  own  coun- 
building  externally  ;  for  it  not  un-  try,  and  surmounted  the  difficulties 
frequently  happen?,thatconcurring  i  of  such  arrangements  by  aiming  to 
circumstances  will  effect  a  pecu-  i  produce  grand  and  picturesque 
VhL  II.  y»,  X[.  L  L 


250 


DESIGN    rOR   A    COTTAGE    OUNE. 


efTects,  rather  than  those  of  statel}- 
elegance ;  and  it  is  perhaps  to  the 
encouragement  given  to  this  eft'ort 
by  the  taste  antl  judgment  of  the 
present  Earl  of  Essex,  that  we  are 
indel)tcd  to  so  extensive  a  recovery 
of  m;oiy  hcauiies  in  English  archi- 
tecture. 

The  plan  of  the  annexed  design 
of  a  cottage  ome  de|)arts  but  little 
from  a  simply  oblong  form,  but  it 
marks  that  no  attempt  has  been 
made  to  complete  it;  and  in  the 
elevation  also,  the  forms  are  dis- 
posed with  ^  very  limited  regard 
to  a  perfect  symmetry  of  its  parts. 
This  building  is  arranged  lor  a 
small  famil}-,  and  consists  of  a  hall, 
staircase,  dining  and  drawing- 
rooms,  closet  for  coats,  &c.  a  kitch- 
en, sculler}',  ami  larder  on  the 
ground-floor;  on  tlie  chamber-floor 
are  five  rooms  and  a  closet;  and  on 
the  under-ground  story  are  proper 
wine,  beer,  and  coal-cellars,  a  cold 
larder  and  store-room.  Plans  of 
this  description  have  the  advantage 
of  losing  no  space  by  communicat- 
ing passages,  which  too  commonl}- 
increase  the  magnitude  of  build- 
ings, and  consequently  the  expense 
of  then),  without  a  corresponding 
benefit.  The  absence  or  spare  ap- 
plication of  passages,  constitutes, 
perhaps,  one  of  the  perfections  of 
a  plan,  provided  all  the  rooms  are 
approachable  independently  of 
each  other  from  the  hall,  staircase, 
or  vestibule;  and  such  simplicity 
of  arrangeujcnt  should  always  have 
a  due  consideration.  The  roof  of 
this  design  is  made  to  project  be- 
yond the  walls  of  tlie  house,  and 
,thus,atlbrds  an  opportunity  of  form - 

,JP.S  ^  te'^'^'l^'T  ^'.'>^'  double  virandah, 
.J a  very  desirable  appendage  to  a 
■.  yilla,  whose  chief   aiKirtments   are 


presented    to    south   or   to  south- 
western aspects. 


OBSERVATIONS    ON    TPIE    DRY-ROT 

IN    BUILDINGS. 

( Continued  fiotn  p.  190 J 

The  disease  in  buildings,  termed 
the  dry-rot,  being  ascertained  to 
originate  in  the  corruption  of  the 
timber  used  in  it,  or  from  some 
vegetable  putrescence  in  its  neigh- 
bourhood, assisted  by  a  certain 
proportion  of  heat  and  moisture,  it 
will  be  evident  that  tlie  prevention 
of  the  disease  in  new  buildings 
about  to  be  erected  will  depend  on 
the  choice  or  judicious  manage- 
ment of  the  ground  on  which 
we  build;  on  the  construction  of 
the  building;  on  the  nature  and 
state  of  the  timber  and  other  ma- 
terials employed  ;  and  on  the  pro- 
per drainage  and  due  ventilation 
of  all  its  parts. 

Clay  soils  are  the  most  genera- 
tive of  this  disease;  the  surfaces  of 
them,  and  frequently  the  clay  it- 
self, abounds  with  vegetable  par- 
ticles, and  it  is  often  found  deeply 
seated  in  it  in  the  state  of  slime. 
Where  trees,  shrubs,  or  hetlges 
have  grown,  the  earth  retains  parts 
of  their  roots,  which,  upon  decay, 
produce  small  funguses  :  the  sur- 
faces and  loose  parts  of  all  such 
soils  should  be  carefully  removed, 
and,  if  needful,  the  deficiencies  be 
supplied  uiih  gravel,  or  some  other 
pure  material,  great  care  being 
taken  that  an  adequate  drainage  is 
obtained  ;  for,  in  tliis  case,  it  is  of 
the  first  consequence,  as  a  clay  soil, 
from  its  retention  of  damps  and 
tenacious  hold  of  corrupt  matter, 
may  be  considered,  in  most  in- 
stances, as  the  primary  source  of 
the  dry-rot  in  buildings  so  situated. 


OBSERVATIONS    ON    TIH-    UUY-KOT    IN    BUILDINGS. 


251 


Buildings  arc  more  or  less  fa- 
vourable to  the  production  of  liie 
dry-rot,  as  by  their  construction 
they  more  or  less  receive  the  ad- 
vantages which  are  derived  from 
good  drainage  and  free  ventilation  ; 
by  these  the  adjustment  of  that  due 
proportion  of  heat  and  moisture,  so 
necessary  to  the  progress  of  the 
disease,  is  wholly  destroyetl,  and 
consequently  the  tendency  to  its 
progress  by  otlier  causes  is  coun- 
teracted, and  is  never  perhaps  ma- 
nifested by  a  speedy  decay.  For 
this  purpose  areas  should  be  form- 
ed all  round  the  builditig,  and  the 
under  part  of  the  lower  lloors  freely 
ventilated,  particularly  if  they  are 
contained  in  what  is  termed  an 
under-ground  story  ;  and  it  is  not 
enough  that  air  be  admitted  into 
those  parts  by  one  aperture,  such 
openings  must  be  multiplied,  and 
so  disposed  as  to  produce  a  conti- 
nued current,  and  consequently  a 
removal  of  the  impurities  that  might 
otherwise  remain  in  theu».  If,  how- 
ever, a  sufficient  circulation  can- 
not be  obtained  in  this  way,  some 
other  device  must  be  resorted  to, 
and  perliaps  there  is  no  better 
means  for  this  purpose  than  com- 
mon Hues,  which  may  bo  carrietl 
up  with  the  chimney  Hues  of  the 
house  whenever  a  stack  for  them 
conveniently  presents  itself,  or  by 
other  tlues,  to  destroy  the  equili- 
brium of  the  air  which  surrounds 
the  atmosphere  of  the  confined 
apartment.  The  dry-rot  sometimes 
begins  at  the  top  of  the  house ; 
in  this  situation  it  is  owincr  usuallv 
to  the  gutters,  eitlier  from  their 
being  too  small  for  the  quantity  of 
water  they  have  to  dismiss,  from 
the  improper  method  used  in  lav- 
ing tbeiu,  or  the  bud  execution  of 


the  work:  the  same  ronsequcnres 
frequently  occur  from  similar  de- 
fects in  the  water-pipes  or  cistern- 
headsr  which  sutler  the  wa'.er  to 
overllow  them,  and  is  thence  re- 
ceived by  the  w.dls  of  the  house, 
with  all  the  vegeiuble  matter  that 
may  l)e  in  solution  with  it. 

Unseasoned  timber,  or  timber 
that  contains  much  of  that  moisture 
which  was  essential  to  its  growth 
when  in  the  state  of  a  living  tree, 
necessarily  snlferb  u  (le;:ree  of  fer- 
mentation and  corruption,  propor- 
tioned to  the  suitableness  of  the 
situation  in  which  it  is  placed,  to- 
wards promoting  and  su|)porting 
tjie  natural  principle  of  decay. 
Timber  in  this  state  should  be  re- 
jected, and  such  only  employed  as 
is  dry,  and  in  which  the  viscous  por- 
tion of  its  substance  has  become 
hard.  That  timber  is  the  best 
suited  to  the  purposes  of  building 
where  the  rot  may  be  expected, 
which  is  least  liable  to  sutler  a 
resolution  of  its  softer  parts  by 
the  wet  or  damp  to  \\hich  it  may 
be  exposed. 

Many  ingenious  sj)ecu!ations 
have  been  entertained  on  a  better 
j)ractice  of  telling  trees  in  our  own 
("ouiiirv,  aiul  in  a  pre[)aralion  of  all 
timber  prior  to  the  ath,  ission  of  it 
into  buildings;  and  ex|)erience 
proves  the  btnctits  that  would  re- 
rcsult,  from  experiments  formed 
from  effects  already  knov\n.  not 
onlv  to  edifices  where  the  presence 
of  the  dry-rot  is  expected,  hut  to 
buildings  generally.  This  terrific 
disease  sometimes  originates  in  the 
walls  of  a  house  where  timber  is 
not  present,  and  is  caused  by  the 
corrupt  matter  too  frccjuenily  used 
in  the  preparation  of  the  mortar, 
such  as  loam,  unwashed  road-sand^ 
L  L  2 


252 


V::VIJXHALL  eniDGE. 


or  screened  rubbish;  and  it  most 
commonly  prevails  where  the  brick- 
work is  not  solidly  filled  up  with 
what  is  termed  grouting,  or  mor- 
tar, hut  where  the  bricks  are  so  put 
togeti^er  that  interstices  and  va- 
cancies exist  capable  of"  retaining 
any  corrupt  exlialacions  that  may 
a¥ise  from;  the  cellars  or  founda- 
tions. Masons  also  infect  a  build- 
ing with  the  dry-rot  that  otherwise 
would  he  uiiolly  free  from  it,  by 
laying  the  pavings  of  the  lower 
apartments  with  improper  earth; 
and  it  is  very  often  found  to  pro- 
ceed trom  fire-places,  where  ma- 
sons have  prepared  a  support  for 
the  hearth  or  slab  with  corrupt 
satid'^'  and  from  the  same  cause, 


paved  halls  and  the  landings  of 
stairs  are  spots  from  which  the  dis- 
ease has  origiuated  in  many  in- 
stances. Cesspools,  drains,  and 
wells  require  to  be  ventilated,  un- 
less they  are  so  deeply  situated 
from  tlie  surface  of  the  ground, 
that  being  well  covered,  the  bad  air 
from  them  cannot  reach  the  foun- 
dations of  the  walls  or  tiie  lower 
apartmerits:  this  is,  however,  atl 
uncommon  practice,  but  of  great 
advantage,  not  less  towards  the 
prevention  of  many  disorders  to 
which  the  human  frame  is  incident 
from  corrupt  air,  than  for  tlie  pre- 
vention of  the  disease  in  question. 

•'(To  be  continued.)       <''J<i'iJ 
liu  ydJ  ;  .q  lav/oi 

.vm(,..,In  s„MSJ^?Tjq,TFR.4.|f,.  REVIEW..  „i,  ^j,„„,<i 

hilG    no  VAUXHALL   BttlDGE.     ;;.,.,,,  .jr, 


!;I1^.fs  no  inconsiderable  proof  of 
the  wealth  and  liberty  of  a  coun- 
try, when  a  few  of  its  individuals 


men  in  tbis  country  are  found,  and 
weshall  ever  be  as  happy  to  applaud 
their   undertakinjj    as    to    witness; 


unite  in  the  bold  speculation  of  |j  their  successful  accomplishment  of 
building  a  bridge  over  a  wide  and  ii  so  great  a  public  benefit.  .'  nofJ 
rapid  river;  and  it  is  a  strongly  The  building  of  bridges  was  con- 
presumptive  proof  of  its  increase  1  sidered  so  highly,  and  of  such  great 
of  internal  commerce,  when  the  I  importance,  in  ancient  times,  that 
payment  of  its  vast  expense  is  an-  |  among  the  Romans  it  was  commit- 
ticipated  to  be  complete  in  a  few  [  ted  to  the  priests,  until  at  length 
years,  from  the  collection  of  very  the  emperors  condescended  to  be- 
nioderate  tolls  :  and  yet  one  of  the  come  the  conservators  of  them  ; 
noblest  bridges  of  Europe  is  now  and  in  the  middle  ages,  bridge- 
erecting  over  the  Thames  in  Lon-  !  building  was  received  as  one  of  the 
don  upon  such  a  speculation,  and  acts  of  religion.  Under  the  name 
upon  such  expectancy.    And  cer-  j  o^ pontijices,  or  bridge-builders,  iu' 


taiiily  it  is  a  bold  and r  patriotic 
deed  to  erect  a  bridge  more  re- 
moved from  the  immediate  point  of 
trade^  depending  for  renmiieration 
en  theaniiual  dividend,  in  theshape 
of  interest,  that  certain  tolls  will 
^^ojrd.tQit?  proprieto|-s.     But  suob 


the  twelfth  centur}'  an  order  of 
Hospitallers  was  founded,  whose 
duty  it  w'as  to  erect  bridges  for  the 
convenience  of  travellers;  and  up 
to  no  very  late  period,  the  names  of 
those  whose  munificencehad  found- 
ed others  were  held  in  as  pious  me-r 


VAUXIIALL    BRIDGE. 


2i)3 


mory,  and  became  as  (Jcvouily  pray- 
ed fer,  iis  vv«jj\'  the  good  fionti/icea. 
.  liVauxhall  Bndge  crosses  the 
Thames  near  the  junction  of  the 
Vunxliall,  South  Lambeth,  and 
Poi'ismouih  roads,  and  unites  them 
with  lue  opposite  shore  at  the  end 
of  MiH-Bank,  inTolhill  Fields:  it 
forms  a  ready  communication  with 
tl-.t-  south  of  Vyestminster ;  and  to 
peisous  travel linj5  to  or  from  the 
noriii-wcst  of  London,  and  phices 
in  its  vicinity,  it  presents  the  means 
of  a  considerable  abridgment  of 
tl'.eir  journey.  The  bridge  consists 
of  nine  arcues  and  ei^iht  piers,  ex- 
clusive of  the  abutments,  which 
are  approached  by  very  easy  as- 
cents. The  piers  arc  of  stone,  the 
lower  part  rusticated,  and  the  up- 
per part  ornamented  by  niches  and 
pannels  ;  the  arches  and  tiie  super- 
structure are  of  iron,  which,  being 
open,  gives  the  whole  an  effect  of 
lightness,  but,  in  this  case,  without 
that  general  appearance  of  instfCH''- 
rity  which  too  often  belongs  to 
them.  . 

Iron  bridges  are  exclusively  the 
invention  of  British  artists,  and  it 
is  flattering  to  our  national  talent, 
and  useful  to  the  best  interests  of 
the  country,  when  they  are  success- 
fully adopted  :  they  afford  encou- 
ragement to  ingenuity,  support 
tliousands  of  industrious  workmen, 
and  give  facilities  to  trade;  fortlie 
comjiarative  cheapness  of  their 
construction  enables  speculators  to 
erect  them  where  bridges  would 
not  exist,  if  they  had  to  meet  the 
vast  exjmnses  or"  stone-work,  or  the 
continual  dilaj)idations  to  which 
wooden  bridges  are  <uhjected."  c 

In  tlie  general  design  the  enei- 
neer  bis  succeeded  ;  he  lias  formed 
^n  agreeable  whole,  -by  carefully 


separating  the  fitting  and  pleasur- 
able of  construction  Irum  the  sur- 
prising, and  by  not  speculating 
upon  the  possible,  rather  than  the 
probable,  in  the  practicability  of 
the  arches.  By  his  arrangements 
he  has  certainly  lessened  the  ex- 
pense considerably,  and  not  a  little 
also  by  the  ingenious  plan  of  in- 
creasing the  height  of  the  piers 
progressively  from  the  abutments 
at  eacli  shore  up  to  the  centre  arch  ; 
by  this  means  the  superior  eleva- 
tion of  this  arch  is  obtained,  and 
all  the  others  decrease  in  height 
according  to  the  inclined  line  of 
the  topof  the  bridge,  notwithstand- 
ing the  ribs  of  all  the  arches  are 
ptrft^ctlj-  alike,  being  formed  from 
the  same  radius,  and  probably  all 
cast  from  the  same  set  of  patterns. 
This  last  circumstance  must  have 
Saved  a  considerable  sum  of  money  ; 
indeed,  so  far  as  discretion  and 
foresight  could  be  exemplified  in 
tliis-structure,  it  has  been  mani- 
fested: the  bridge,  therefore,  is 
highly  creditable  to  the  engineer* 
But  as  a  work  of  art,  in  which 
chasteness  of  design,  truth  and 
harmony  of  composition,  and  know- 
ledge of  forms,  with  all  the  beauti- 
ful modification  of  light  and  sha- 
dow, are  iiivoived,  the  bridge  has 
not  a  similar  claim  to  our  ajiplause. 
As  it  is  aj)pr<)ached  by  water,  the 
spectator  is  some  time  in  doubt  if 
the  bridge  be  not'  designed  in  the 
Gothic  taste  (and  it  cofJainly  is  not 
intended  to  be  so),  for  the  iij^right 
forms  that  fill  the  spandrils  give  it 
that  character ;  and  if  the  whole  at 
a  small  distance  be  viewed  from 
either  of  the  shores,  they  induce 
the  spectator  to  receive  as  real  the 
illusion  that  makes  every  arch  ap- 
pear a  pointed  one,  a  peculiartty 


;2o4    CIIRONOLOGIGAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  PAINTERS. 


in  Gothic  arcluLccturc.  The  niches 
in  tlie  piers  are  too  small :  the  rail- 
ing on  the  top  is  mean,  and,  from 
the  meagreness  of  tlie  top  rail,  it 
has,  to  the  passengers,  the  appear- 
ance of  heing  unsafe:  tb.e  alcoves 
on  the  centre  of  the  hridge  might 
well  have  been  spared,  as  they  can- 
not afford  good  shelter,  and  are 
not  beautiful  ;  and  the  toll-houses 
are  l)uilt  from  designs  equally  re- 
moved from  just  claims  to  archi- 


tectuVal  reputation.  Indeed  it  is 
njanifest,  that  tlie  whole  is  the  work 
of  an  engineer  unaided  by  proper 
architectural  assistance;  and  it  is 
to  be  regretted,  that  in  this,  as  well 
as  in  most  other  edifices  construct- 
ed chiefly  of  iron,  the  same  de- 
ficiency exists,  whicli  would  not 
occur  if  the  commissioners  for 
building  then)  appreciated  duly  the 
value  of  architectural  fitness  and 
beauty. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF   THE   MOST   EMINENT  ARTLSTS  TO 
THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 

(Continued  from  p.  198  J 

IN      WHICH  ;  Giovanni   Gaddi,  of  Florence,    1310. 


^)0.t^ 


PAINTEUS;       PF.rUOD 

THEY     ILOUIilSHKD;     PRINCIPAL 
WORKS    AND    MLKITS. 

Bruno  di  Giovanni,  of  Florence,  1320. 

Lirpo  Memmi,  of  Sieiia,  1320.  Many 
\vorks  ill  the  clmicii  of  S.  Croce  at 
Florence;  lor  the  ciiuiihes  ofS,  Ca- 
tering and  S.  P;uj1o  at  Pisa;  for  S. 
Gregorio  at  Arezzo;  for  S.  Francesco 
at  Pisioia,  at  Assisi,  and  at  Ancona. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Giotto,  but  inferior 
jui  merit  to  Simon  Memmi. 

Bartoli  GioGGi,  of  Italy,  1.S20.  Many 
work',  in  the  caiiiedial  orOivieto. 

Ambuogio  Louenzet:  I,  of  Siena,  I340. 
Many  works  in  tlie  hospital  of  Mona 
Agnesa,  in  S.  Agostino,  and  in  the  pa- 
lace della  Signoria  at  Siena.  An  altar- 
piece  at  Vohena.,  .  A-  chapel  in  the 
cathedral  of  Orvietp^  .,A  , chapel  at 
Massa.  An  aliar-piece  in  S.  Procolo 
at  I'lorence.  Several  paintings  in  the 
chvHch  of  S.  Margliei-ita  at  Cortona. 
He  possessed  ^xp<i^  skillialhe  tpeat- 

"     ment  offresco^^    ^  n,  rhnn''?  "'i- 

Agnolo  Gaddi,  of  Florence,  1340. 
Works  in  S.  Jacopo  tra'  e  Fossi  at 
Florence.  Two  chapels,  in  fresco,  in 
S.  Croce,  in  the  same  city.     A  coro- 

"   nation  of  the  Madonna,  in  S.  Maria 

jjjjMaggiore,  and  many  other  works  in 
^^  same  city.  ^fie^^a^^H^jupil  of 


^^adci, 


eo  Gaddi.  " 


Many  works  in  association  with  Ag- 
nolo Gaddi,  He  was  a  pupil  of  Tad- 
deo  and  Agnolo  Gaddi. 

Giovanni  da  Mh.ano,  of  Milan,  1340. 
An  altar-piece  in  S.  Croce,  and  an- 
other in  Ognissanti,  at  Florence.  A 
crucifix,  a  Madonna,  and  S.  Clara,  at 
Assisi.  Many  works  at  Milan.  He 
was  a  disciple  of  Agnolo  Gaddi. 

Ugolino,  of  Sieiid,  134-0.  The  paint- 
ings for  die  high  altar  of  S.  Croce,  on 
a  gokl  ground.  A  picture  for  the 
high  altar  of  S.  Maria  Novella.  A 
great  number  of  works  in  many  other 
cities  of  Italy.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Ci- 
mabue,  and  had  much  practice  in  the 
style  of  the  Greek  masters. 

Andrea  Pisano,  of  Pisa,  1340.  Many 
works  at  Pisa,  Lucca,  and  particularly 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

DoNATO,  ot  Arezzo,  1  340.  Many  works 
in  the  cathedral  of  Orvieto. 

Bartolommuo  BoLOGHiNi,  oF  Siena, 
1340.  Altar-piece  in  the  chapel  of 
S.  Silvester  in  S.  Croce  at  Florence. 
Many  works  at  Siena,  and  other  places 
in  Italy.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Lau- 
rati. 

Andrea  di  Cione  Okgagna,  of  Flo- 
rence, 1340.  The  Last  Judgment  in 
the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  with  many 
portraits  of  celebrated   persons  then 


CilKONOLOGlCAL  SLUVEY  01   THE  MOST  KMINENT  PAINTERS. 


255 


alive.  Till-  l/.isl  Jud^ineut  in  S.  Croce, 
aiid  D.iiilc's  Ik-ll  for  S.  Maria  Novella 
at  riorciicc,  likewise  wiili  nuiiieious 
portraits.  Paradise,  atur  Dante,  willi 
liis  brother  Bernanl,  in  the  same  city. 
Many  other  fresco-puiiuiiigs  there. 
He  was  very  skilliil  in  fresco;  and  his 
are  the  first  known  allempls  to  repre- 
sent the  Lust  Judgment. 

Bernardo  Orgacjna,  of  Florence,  13  k). 
Paradise  and  Hell  after  Dante,  in  asso- 
ciation with  his  brother,  at  Morence.    ; 

Giovanni  da  Ponto,  of  Florence,  13W.  ' 
Many    vvoiks,   in    fresco,    at  Empoli.  , 
Many  works  in  S.  'i'rinita,  and  in  other  i 
churches   and   convents  at   Florence. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  IJufralniacco.  ! 

Jacopo  ui  Casen UNO,  of  Pratovccchio,  ' 
J'J+O.     Many  works  at   Florence   in  i 
and  about  public  buildings,  and  in  the 
churches  of  S.  Bartolommeo,   S.  Do- 
nienico,  and  S.  Agos'.ino,  at  Arezzo.  I 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Taddeo  G'addi. 

[About    this    time    lived     Niclas  [ 
Wl'rmser,    of  Bohemia,    by    whom 
there  is  a  Christ  on  the   cross,  with 
Mary  and  John,  on  a  gold  ground,  in 
the  gallery  of  Vienna.] 

ToMMAso  CioTTiNO,  of  Florence,  13G0. 
A  chapel  in  S.  Stefuno  al  Ponte  Vec- 
chio,  at  Florence.  A  chapel  in  S. 
Spirilo,  the  chapel  i^f  S.  Silvester  in  S.  | 
Croce,  and  the  chapel  of  S.  Lorenzo 
in  S,  Maria  ^sovella,  all  in  the  same 
city.  Many  works  at  Rome,  as  in  S. 
Giovanni  di  Laterano,  in  Ara  Coell, 
and  in  the  Orsini  palace.  He  took 
Giotto  for  his  model. 

Berna,  of  Siena,  1360.  Several  fresco 
I>aintings  in  S.  Agostino  at  Siena.  The 
fayade  of  the  church  of  S.  Margare- 
tha,  and  several  other  paintings  at 
Coi  tona.  Works  at  Arezzo,  and  in  S. 
S|)irilo  at  Florence.  Into  all  his  per- 
formances he  introduced  nianv  por- 
traits of  himself  and  his  friends.  He 
excelled  in  many  particulars,  «;speci- 
ally  in  simpliciiy  and  dignity  of  ex- 
pression. 

,^Gio<vANNi  d'Asciaxo,  of  Siena,   15G0. 


Various  paintings  in  the  hospital  della 
Scala  at  Siena,  and  in  the  palaces  of 
the  Mtdicis  al  Florence.  He  was  a 
pupil  of  Jierna. 

Antonio  Vineziano,  of  Venice,  1360. 
A  fayade  for  the  hall  del  Consiglio  at 
Venice.  Works  in  the  convent  of  S. 
Splrito  at  Florence.  About  twenty 
large  |)aintings  in  the  Cam[)o  Santo  at 
Pisa,  which  are  some  of  the  best,  in 
that  edifice.  Works  In  the  cathedral 
of  Pisa.  An  altar-piece  and  a  Trans- 
figuraHon  in  the  C'erto«a  at  Fl()rence. 
In  his  pictures,  especially  in  those  in 
the  Ctuiipo  Santo  al  Pisa,  we  meet 
with  many  landscapes,  which  are  the 
fir^;t  i.f  any  coiisp()uence  that  we  know 
of.  lie  was  a  disciple  of  Agnoli* 
Gaddi.  He  was  remarkable  fur  the 
grandeur,  richness,  and  skilful  arrange- 
ment of  his  compositions,  for  the 
drawing,  and,  above  all,  for  the  co- 
louring of  his  paintings  in  fresco. 
SpiNtCLLO,  of  Arezzo,  130O.  I\Liny  fresco 
painlings  in  the  church  of  S.  Niccolo 
alle  Sale  del  Papa,  in  S.  Maria  Mag- 
giore.and  in  the  chuichdel  Carmine  at 
Flbrerrce.  A  great  number  of  fre*co 
paintings  in  the  churches  of  Arezzo. 
Works  in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Jacopo  Casen- 
lino. 
Bernaudo  Nello,  of  Pisa,  1370.   Manv 

\      pictures  in  the  cathedial  of  Pisa.     He 
was  a  pupil  of  Andrea  Orgagna. 

I  TommXso  di  Marco,  of  Florence,  1370. 

i       Several  pictures  at  Florence  and  Pisa, 
in  which  latter  city  he  worked  a  great 

j      deal  for  the  church  of  S.  Antonio.     A 
pupil  of  Andrea  Orgagna. 

j  Mariotto,  of  Florence,    1370.     Many 

!       pictures  in  Florence,   parliculaily   in 
the  church  of  S.  Michael   lii>domini. 

I      A  pupil  of  Andrea  Orgagna. 
Francesi'o  Tuaini,  of  Florence,  1370. 
Paintings   at   Florence,    and    in    the 

j      church  of  S.  Caterina  at  PL^a.     A  pu- 
pil of  Andrea  Orgagna. 
LippoVaSNi,  of  Siena,  1370.     Annun- 
ciation of  the  Viriiin  Marv  in  S.J)u- 


'256 


CHUONOLOGKJAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  PAINTERS. 


nieuicn  at  Siena,  as  well  as  many  other 
works  there. 
Bartolo    de   Fredi,    of  Siena,    1370. 
Many  jjainiiDgs  at  Pisa,  Siena,  Flo- 
rence, and  Gemignano. 
Giovanni  TossiCANi,  ofArezzo,   13S0. 
Many  works  at  Arezzo,  Assisi,  Flo- 
rence, Siena,  and  in  the  cathedral  <.f 
Pisa.     The  finest  of"  liis  works  was  an 
Annunciation  in  (he  episcopal   palace 
at  Aiezzo.     A  pupil  of  Giottino. 
MiCMELiNo,    of  Italy,     1380.     Various 
works  at  Florence.  Apupilof  Giotiino. 
Giovanni  pel  Ponte,  of  Florence,  iSSO. 
Many  works  at  Florence.    A  pupil  of 
Giottino. 
Gherakdo  Starnina,  of  Florence,  ISSO. 
Various  works  in  Spain.     Pictures  in 
the  church  del  Carmine  at  Florence. 
A  pupil  of  Ant.  Viiicziano. 
Parui    Spinf.llo,      of    Arezzn,      1380. 
Many  pcimiings  at  Arezzo,  chiefly  in 
water-colours.     He  was  sou  and  pu|)il 
to  the  elder  Spinello,  whom  he  sur- 
passed in  design. 
Bernardo    Daddi,    of  Arezzo,    1380. 
Many  pictures  at  Arezzo,  Siena,  and 
Pisa.     A  pupil  of  the  elder  Spinello. 
Lorenzo  vi  Bicci,  of  Florence,   1380. 
Various  paintings  in  the  Riccaidi  pa- 
lace, in  S.  Marco,  in  the  convent  of  S. 
.  Croce    (a  Sc.  Thomas  and  a  large  St. 
Christopher),  in  the  church  ot  the  Ca- 
maldulenses,  in  S.  Carmine,  in  St.  Tri- 
ni;a,  and  in  the  cathedral  at  Florence. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  the  elder  Spinello, 
and  di^tingviished  for  the  excellence 
of  liis  drawing  and  vivid  colouring. 
IIuBERTUs  VAN  KvK,  brother  tojohannes 
van  Eyk,  of  Maaseyk:    born   1306, 
died  1420.    The  principal  productions 
of  thc-e  two  broihers  are  to  be  .^een  at 
Bruges,  Ypres,  and  Ghent,  as  well  as 
in  other  cities  of  the  Netherlands  and 
Holland,  an:l  but  very  rarely  in  the 
principal  galleries  of  Europe.     These 
two  Flemish  painters  possess  the  great 
merit  of  having  opened  a  more  exten- 
sive sphere  for  the  art,  by  the  in'ro- 
duction  of  painting  in  oil;  and  with 


them  commences  a  new  epoch  in 
painting.  In  this  new  species  of  paint- 
ing their  own  works  have  never  yet 
been  surpassed. 

Johannes  van  Eyk,  brother  to  Hobertus 
van  Evk,  of  Maaseyk  :  horn  1370, 
died  14'H.' — See  theprecedmg. 

Antonio  ViTo,  of  Pistoia,  1400.  Works 
in  the  capitolo  of  S.  Niccola  at  Pisa, 
which  were  transf<:rred  to  him  by  Star- 
nina, v\  hose  pupil  he  was. 

IMasolino  da  Panicale,  of  Panicale, 
1400.  Several  esiecmed  works  at  Flo- 
rence.    A  pupi!  ;if  Starnina. 

Andrea  di  Giovanni,  nf  Orvieto,  1405, 
Many  works  in  the  cathedral  of  Or- 
vieto. 

Bartolommeo  di  Pietro,  of  Orvieto, 
1405.  Many  works  in  tiie  cathedral 
of  Orvieto. 

Lippo  Dalmasi,  of  Bologna,  1405. 
Many  works  at  Bologna,  Feirara,  and 
Florence. 

Taddeo  Bartoli,  of  Siena,  1405.  Many 
pictures  at  Siena  in  the  palace  dtlla 
Signoria,  in  S.  Agostino,  in  the  Campo 
Santo  at  Pi<a,  and  at  Arezzo.  He  was 
the  son  and  pupil  of  Bartolo  de  Fredi. 

Galasso  Alghisi,  of  Terrara,  1405. 
Many  pictuies  at  Ferrara,  and  in  other 
cities  of  Lombardy. 

Chistofouo  da  f  errara,  of  Ferrara, 
1405.     MatiV  pictures  at  Ferrara. 

Antonello  di  Messina,  of  Messina, 
1405.  Many  pictures  in  Italy,  espe- 
cially at  Venice  and  Florence,  and 
like\vi>e  in  Sicily.  The  fust  oil-paint- 
ing seen  in  Italy  was  an  altar-piece  in 
S.  Cassiano  at  Venice,  the  production 
of  his  pencil.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Jo- 
hannes van  Eyk,  and  the  first  Italian 
who  brought  the  art  of  oil-painting, 
which  he  learned  at  Bruges,  to  Italy. 
ANroNio  DI  Ferrara,  of  Ferrara,  1405. 

Many  works  at  Ferrara. 
Ant(jnio    ALiuiRTi,   of  Ferrara,   1405. 

Many  works  at  Ferrara. 
DoMBNico,    of   Venice,    1405.     Many 
works  at  Venice,  Loretn,  Perugia,  and 
Florence.     Of  his  performances  in  oil. 


ClinONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE  MOST  EMINENT  PAINTERS. 


257 


M'hicli  were  some  of  ihe  earliest  oil- 
jpaititings  in  Italy,  a  St.  Francis  and 
St.  Dominic,  formerly  at  Florence,  are 
highly  celcbraled.  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Autonello  di  Messina,  who  instructed 
him  in  the  art  of  painting  in  oil. 

Fkancesco  da  CoTTiGNOLA,  of  Ferrara, 
lt05.     Many  works  at  Ferrara. 

GinoLAMO  FiORiNi,  of  Ferrara,  1105. 
Many  works  at  Ferrara. 

CosiMo  TuRRA,  of  Ferrara,  1420.  Many 
works  at  Ferrara. 

Francesco  del  Cossa,  of  Ferrara,  1  420, 
Many  works  at  Ferrara. 

DoMENico  Bartoli,  of  Sicna,  1420: 
IMaiiy  works  at  Siena,  and  in  S.  Tri- 
uila  at  Florence.  He  was  the  grand- 
son and  pupil  of  Bartnlo  de  Fredi. 

Don  Lorenzo,  of  Florence,  1420.  Many 
■works  in  the  convent  degli  Angioli  at 
Florence,  where  he  was  a  monk.  He 
was  of  the  school  of  Taddeo  Gaddi, 
and  was  equally  distinguished  for 
drawing  and  colouring. 

P.  F^rancesca,  of  Florence,  1420.  Se- 
veral battle-pieces,  night-pieces,  and 
portraits. 

PiSANO,  of  S.  Vilo,  near  Verona,  1420. 
Works  in  S.  Anastasia,  S.  Fermo,  S. 
Stefano,  &c.  at  \  ito  and  Verona. 
Works  in  the  palace  of  the  Doge  at 
Venice,  in  the  Lateran  at  Rome,  and 
at  Florence. 

Alvaro  di  Piero,  of  Florence,  1420. 
Pictures  at  Florence. 

Marco,  of  Montepulciano,  1420.  Va- 
rious paintings  at  Montepulciano,  Flo- 
rence, and  Sicna.  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Lorenzo  di  Bicci. 

Paola  Uccello,  of  Florence,  1420.  He 
painted  many  pieces  with  animals, 
especially  birds,  and  like\\ise  land- 
scapes. He  was  a  pupil  of  Ant.  Vine- 
^iano,  and  was  llie  first  artist  who  is 
known  to  have  excelled  in  painting 
animals  and  landscapes. 

Lorenzo  Ghiberti,  of  Florence,  1120. 
Various  paintings  on  glass,  under 
the  cupola  in  the  cathedral  of  Flo- 
rence, and  in  other  edifices  in  the  same 

Vol.  II.  No.  XL 


city,     lie  excelled  in  painting  upon 
glass. 

Fra  Giovanni  daFiesole,  of  Ficsole, 
1420:  born  1387.  Miniature-paint- 
ings at  Fiesole,  and  at  Flori  nee ;  a 
Madonna,  with  the  infant  Jesus,  in  the 
Certosa  ai  Florence;  a  coronation  of 
the  Maduuna,  and  a  M.idonna  with 
two  saints,  m  the  same  place.  Frc'ico 
paintings  in  S.  Maria  Novella,  in  the 
Capitolo  di  S.  Marco,  with  m;iiiy  por- 
traits, an  all  ar- piece  in  the  same  edi- 
fice, in  the  Munziala,  and  in  many 
churches,  convents,  and  houses  in  Flo- 
rence. Many  work*  in  S.  Domenico 
at  Fiesole,  at  Oi  vieto,  at  Coriona,  and 
particu'arly  at  Rome,  where  many 
exquisite  pieces  by  him  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  Vatican.  He  excelled  in 
drawing,  colouring,  and  ccinposiiion. 
His  slyie  po.ssessed  truth,  }>!nity,  dig- 
nity, an('  expression;  and  his  execu- 
tion is  highly  finished.  He  studied  even 
in  his  later  years,  after  the  youn;,er 
Masaccio. 

Gentile  da  Fabuiano,  of  Fabriano, 
1420.  Many  works  in  the  great 
council -house  at  Venice,  at  Siena, 
Florence,  arul  Perugia.  He  was  a 
pupil  of  Fies'de,  whom  he  almost 
equalled  in  his  works. 

Masaccio  da  S.  Giovanni,  of  Valdar- 
no,  in  Tuscany,  1420:  born  1402, 
died  144.).  An  altar-piece  «  tempera 
in  S.  Ambrogio,  in  Florence.  Fresco 
paintings  in  the  abbey,  in  S.  Maria 
Novella,  in  S.  Maria  Maggioie,  and 
in  the  church  del  Carmine,  at  Flo- 
rence. Fresco  paintings  in  the  church 
del  Carmine  at  Pisa,  and  in  S.  Cle- 
mente  at  Rome.  He  was  the  first 
great  Christian  painter  of  modern 
times,  through  whom  the  art  was  ma- 
terially advanced,  and  whose  works 
were  particularly  .siudied  by  Fiesole, 
Michael  Angelo,  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
and  Raphael. 

Neri,  of  Ilnrence,  1430.    Various  works 
at  Florence.     He  was  the  son  and  pu- 
pil of  L(.renzo  di  Bicci. 
i\i    M 


^58 


DIRECTIONS  FOR   THE   PUKSKRVATION  OF  THE  SIGHT. 


Bicci,  of  Florence,  1+30.  Various 
works  at  Florence.  He  was  the  son 
and  pupil  of  Lorenzo  di  Bicci. 

Fra  FiLippo  Lipi'i,  of  Florence,  M-30  ; 
born  UOO,  died  1470.  An  aliar-piei  e 
in  S,  Ambrogio  at  Florence,  as  also 
in  the  Camaldulensian  convent  in  the 
same  city.  Many  woi-ks  at  Rome, 
Fiesole,  Spoleto,  Perugia,  Arezzo, 
Prato,  and  Pistoia.  He  studied  the 
works  of  Masaccio. 

Attavante,  of  Florence.  Admirable 
miniature- paintings  in  Florence,  Ve- 
nice, and  other  cities  of  llal3^  He 
was  the  first  celebrated  niinialure- 
painter. 

GiAcoMo  FiLippo,  of  Ferrara,  1430. 
Many  works  at  Ferrara, 

Fra  Diamante,  ol' Florence,  1440,  Va- 
rious works  at  Florence,  and  particu- 


larly in  -the  church  of  the  Carmelites 
in  Prato.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Filippo 
Lippi,  and  of  disiinguished  merit, 

Alessio  Baldovinetti,  of  Fl  rence, 
1440.  Many  works  in  tresco  and  oil, 
but  especially  portiails,  animals,  and 
landscapes,  together  with  historical 
compositions.  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Paolo  Uccello,  and  excelled  in  land- 
scapes. 

Lazzako  Vasari,  of  Arezzo,  1440. 
Many  works  at  Arezzo,  Perugia,  Sie- 
na^ and  Spoleto,  chiefly  upon  glass. 
He  was  a  pupil  of  Pietro  della  Fran- 
cesca,  and  particularly  happy  in  the 
delineation  of  strong  emotions. 

Jacopo  del  Sellajo,  of  Florence,  1440. 
Many  works  at  Florence,  Pisa,  and 
other  cities  of  Tuscany.  He  was  a  pu- 
pil of  Filippo  Lippi. 


THE  DOAIESTIC  COM.MONPLACE-BOOK  ;      . 

Contuinlng  authentic  Receipts  and  miscellantous  Information  in  every  Branch  of 
Domestic  Economy,  and  of  general  Utility.  v  J3«;.j; 

my  intention  to  enter  into  a'fiiedi- 
cal  discussion  ;  but  the  importance 
of  the  subject  will,  I  flatter  myself, 
be  a  sufficient  apology  for  the  fol- 
lowing lines. 

Wit  I)  regard  to  the  preservation 
of  the  eyes,  it  is  certain  that  there 
is  nothing  which  preserves  the  sight 
longer,  than  always  using,  both  in 
reading  and  writing,  that  moderate 
degree  of  light  which  is  best 
suited  to  the  eye;  too  little  light 
strains  the  sight,  too  great  a  quanti- 
ty dazzles  it,  and  the  eyes  are  less 
hurt  by  the  want  of  light,  than  by 
tlie  excess  of  it.  Too  little  light, 
if  uniformly  used,  never  does  any 
harm  to  the  eyes,  unless  they  are 
strained  by  eflbrts  to  see  objects  to 
which  the  deuiiee^of  lierht  is4nade- 
quate;  but  too  great  a  quantity  of 
light  has,  by  its  own  power,  de- 
stroyed the-sight.   Thus  rimii}^  haV«i 


libw  TO  PRESERVE  THE  EYES — 
GENERAL  RULES  FOR  THE  CHOICE 
OF  SPECTACLES,  AND  METHOD  OF 
JUDGING  UNDER  WHAT  CIRCUM- 
STANCES THE  EYESIGHT  MAY  BE 
ASSISTED  BY  GLASSES, 

There  is  no  branch  of  popular 
knowledge  of  which  it  is  more  im- 
portant that  every  individual  should 
know  something,  than  that  whicii 
treats  of  the  various  imperfections 
of  siglit,  or  how  to  preserve  tiieej-es. 

Though  it  may  be  impossible 
to  prevent  the  absolute  decay  of 
.sight,  whether  arising  from  age, 
partial  disease,  or  illness;  yet  b}' 
prudence  and  good  management 
the  natural  failure  of  sight  may 
certainly  be  retarded,  and  the  ge- 
neral habit  of  the  eyes  strength- 
ened. In  attempting  to  say  some- 
tliing  with  regard  to  the  rules  for 
fhe  preservation  of  sight,  it  is  not 


DIRECTIONS  FUR  Tlir;  PULSKRVATlOxV  OF  THE  SIGFIT. 


259 


brought  on  themselves  blindness, 
by  siidclen  and  frequent  exposure 
to  a  viviti  or  dazzling-  lij^ht;  others 
liave  injured  their  sit^ht,  witliout 
being  aware  of  it,  by  frequently 
and  daily  passinisr  from  a  dark  j)lace 
into  bright  daylight.  How  hurt- 
lul  the  looking  upon  luminous  ol)- 
jects  is  to  the  sight,  becomes  evi- 
dent from  its  effects  in  those  coun- 
tries which  are  covered  the  greater 
]iart  of  the  year  with  snow,  where 
blindness  is  exceedingly  frequent, 
and  where  the  traveller  is  oblitred 
to  cover  his  eyes  vritli  crape,  to 
prevent  the  dangerous  and  often 
sudden  eHects  of  too  much  liirht. 
Even  the  untutored  savage  tries  to 
avoid  the  danger,  by  framing  little 
wooden  cases  for  his  eyes,  with  only 
two  narrow  slits. 

Before  I  proceed  to  state  a  few 
general  maxims,  necessary  for  the 
l)reservation  of  sight,  I  shall  men- 
tion the  following  cases,  which  are 
so  applicable  to  the  present  article 
as  to  want  no  apology  for  their  in- 
sertion here;  though,  if  any  were 
necessary,  the  use  they  will  pro- 
liahly  be  of  to  those  whose  com- 
plaints arise  from  the  same  and 
similar  causes,  would,  I  presume, 
be  more  than  sufficient  for  that 
purpose. 

A  lady  from  the  country  coming 
to  reside  in  St.  James's  square,  was 
afilicted  with  a  pain  in  the  eyes, 
and  a  decay  of  sight.  She  could 
not  look  upon  the  stones  when  the 
sun  shone  upon  them,  without  great 
pain.  Tiiis,  which  she  thought  was 
one  of  the  symptoms  of  her  disor- 
der, was  the  real  cause  of  it.  Her 
eyes,  which  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  verdure  of  the  country,  and 
the  green  of  the  pasture-ground 
before  her  bouse,  could  not  bear 


the  violent  and  unnatural  glare  of 
light  reflected  from  the  stones.  She 
was  advised  to  place  a  nund)er  of 
small  green  shrubs  in  the  windows, 
so  that  their  foliage  and  tops  might 
hitle  the  pavement  and  be  in  a  line 
with  the  eye.  She  received  be- 
nefit from  this  simple  change  in 
the  light,  though  her  eyes  were 
before  on  the  verge  of  little  less 
than  blindness.     And  farther: 

A  gentleman  of  the  law  had  his 
lodgings  in  Pall-Mali,  on  the  north 
side;  his  front  windows  were  ex- 
posed to  the  full  noon,  while  the 
back  parlour,  having  no  opening 
but  into  a  small  closcyard  surround- 
ed with  high  walls,  was  dark:  he 
wrote  in  the  back  room,  and  used 
to  come  from  that  into  the  front  to 
breakfast,  &c.  His  sight  grew 
weuk,  and  he  had  a  constant  pain 
in  the  balls  of  his  eyes  ;  he  tried 
spectacles,  and  advised  v.ith  ocu- 
lists, cquall)'  in  vain.  Being  soon 
convinced,  that  coming  suddenly 
out  of  his  dusky  study  into  the  full 
daylight  very  often  in  the  day, 
had  been  the  real  cause  of  the  dis- 
order, he  took  new  lodgings,  by 
which,  and  forbearing  to  write  by 
candle-light,  he   was  soon   cured. 

Other  instances  might  be  men- 
tioned where  persons,  living  in 
dark  rooms,  and  whose  employment 
obliged  them  to  come  frequently  in 
the  course  of  the  day  to  a  window 
which  admitted  the  direct  light  of 
the  sun,  acquired  a  weak  siglit  by 
this  unexpected  cause  only. 

From  these  facts  it  becomes  evi- 
dent, that  those  who  have  weak 
eyes  shoultl  be  particularly  at- 
tentive to  the  circumstances  just 
stated.  The  following  rules  may 
be  laid  down  as  general  maxims  to 
preserve  the  siszht : — 


M  M  2 


260 


DIRECTIONS  FOR  THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  SIGHT. 


1.  Never  sit  for  any  length  of 
time  either  in  absolute  gloom,  or 
exposed  to  a  blaze  of  light.  The 
reason  on  which  tliis  rule  is  found- 
ed, proves  the  impropriety  of  going 
hastily  from  one  extreme  to  the 
other,  whether  of  darkness  or  of 
light,  and  shows  us  that  a  southern 
aspect  is  improper  for  those  whose 
sight  is  weak  and  tender. 

2.  Avoid  reading  small  print, 
and  straining  the  eyes  by  looking 
at  minute  objects. 

3.  Do  not  read  in  the  dusk,  nor, 
if  the  eyes  be  disordered,  b}'  can- 
dle-light. Happy  those  who  learn 
this  lesson  betimes,  and  begin  to 
preserve  their  sight  before  they  are 
reminded  by  pain  of  tlie  necessity 
of  sparing  it.  The  frivolous  at- 
tention to  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
the  evening,  has  cost  numbers  the 
perfect  and  comfortable  iise  of 
their  eyes  for  many  years :  the  mis- 
cliief  is  eiffected  imperceptibly,  and 
the  consequences  are  inevitable. 

4.  Do  not  permit  the  eyes  to 
dwell  on  glaring  objects,  more  par- 
ticularly on  first  waking  in  a  morn- 
ing: the  sun  should  not  of  course 
be  suffered  to  shine  in  the  room  at 
that  time,  and  a  moderate  quantity 
of  light  only  be  admitted.  It  is  easy 
to  see  that,  for  the  same  reasons, 
the  furniture,  walls,  and  other  ob- 
jects of  a  bed -room,  should  not  be 
altogether  of  a  white  or  glaring 
colour ;  indeed  those  whose  eyes 
are  weak,  would  find  considerable 
advantage  in  having  green  for  the 
furniture  and  prevailing  colour  of 
their  bedchamber.  Nature  con- 
firms the  propriety  of  this  fact ; 
for  the  light  of  the  day  comes  on 
by  slow  degrees,  and  green  is  the 
■universal  colour  vvliich  she  presents 
tb  our  eyes. 


5.  Those  individuals  who  are  ra- 
ther long-sighted,  should  accustom 
themselves  to  read  with  less  light, 
and  with  the  book  somewhat  nearer 
to  the  eye  than  what  they  naturally 
like;  while  others,  that  are  rather 
short-sighted,  should  use  them- 
selves to  read  with  the  book  as  far  off 
as  possible.  By  these  means  both 
will  improve  and  strengthen  theit 
sight,  while  a  contrary  course  in- 
creases its  natural  imperfections. 

Such  are  the  general  rules,  which 
cannot  fail  to  preserve  the  sight ; 
and  blindness,  or  at  least  miserable 
weakness  of  sight,  is  often  brought 
on  by  neglect  of  these  unsuspected 
causes.  The  prevention  of  this  ma- 
lady is  easy,  but  the  cure  may  be 
difticult,and  perhaps  impracticable. 
General  Rules  for  the  Choice  of  Spec- 
tacles^ and  Method  of  judging  when 
the  Ei/esight  mai/  be  assisted  and 
preserved  Oi/  Glasses. 
To  detail  those  circumstances 
which  are  in  general  marks  of  ad- 
vancing age,  and  always  of  partial 
infirmity,  must  be  ever  unpleasant, 
and  would  be  equally  unnecessary-, 
if  it  were  not  the  means  of  lessen- 
ing the  inconveniencies  attendant 
on  those  stages  of  life.  Increasing 
years  have  a  natural  tendency  to 
bring  on  an  impaired  sight,  and 
earlier  among  those  who  have  made 
the  least  use  of  their  eyes  in  their 
youth.  But  whatever  care  be  taken 
of  the  sight,  the  decay  of  nature 
cannot  be  prevented.  To  relieve 
the  organ  of  sight,  which  is  the 
source  of  the  most  refined  pleasure, 
is  therefore  certainly  a  desirable 
object.  To  enable  persons  w!io  are 
in  want  of  assistance,  to  determine 
vv!  ether  spectacles  will  be  advan- 
tageous or  detrimental,  and  what 
kind  will  best  suit  their  sight,  and 


RULES  FOR  THE  CHOICE  OF  SPECTACLES. 


201 


to  instruct  those  who  aheady  use 
glasses,  that  they  may  discover  wlie- 
iher  the  spectacles  they  have  chosen 
are  adapted  to  the  imperfection  of 
their  sight,  or  are  such  as  will  in- 
crease their  complaint  and  weaken 
their  eyes,  are  subjects  worthy  of  the 
consideration  of  every  individual. 

The  most  general  and  perhaps 
the  best  rule  that  can  be  <iiven  to 
those  .vho  are  in  want  of  assistance 
from  glasses,  in  order  to  their  chu- 
sing  such  spectacles  as  may  suit  the 
state  of  their  eyes,  is  to  prefer  those 
glasses  which  shew  objects  nearest 
their  natural  state,  lieither  enlarged 
nor  diminished,  the  glasses  being 
near  the  eye,  and  that  give  a  black- 
ness, sharpness,  and  distinctness 
to  the  letters  of  a  book,  neither 
straining  the  eye,  nor  causing  any 
unnatural  exertion  of  it  :  for  no 
spectacles  can  be  said  to  be  pro- 
perly accommodated  to  the  eyes, 
which  do  not  procure  them  case 
and  rest.  If  the  spectacles  fatigue 
the  eyes,  we  may  safely  conclude, 
either  that  we  have  no  occasion  for 
them,  or  that  they  are  ill  made,  or 
not  proportioned  to  our  sight:  and 
though  in  the  choice  of  sj)ectacles 
every  one  must  finally  determine 
for  himself  which  are  the  glasses 
tlirouoh  which  he  obtains  the  most 
distinct  vision,  yet  some  confidence 
should  also  be  placed  in  the  judg- 
uient  of  the  skilful  optician  of  whom 
they  are  purchased,  and  some  at- 
tention  paid   to  his  directions. 

An  advanced  age,  it  rcniains  to 
be  stated,  is  by  no  means  an  abso- 
lute criterion  by  vvhicli  we  can  de- 
cide upon  the  sigh.t,  nor  will  it  prove 
tlie  necessity  of  wearing  spectacles : 
for,  on  the  one  hand,  there  are 
many  individuals  whose  sight  is 
preserved  in  all   its  vigour  to  an 


advanced  old  age;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  sight  may  be  im- 
paired in  ytJUth  by  a  variety  of 
causes,  or  vitiated  by  disease.  Nor 
is  the  defect  either  the  same  in 
different  persons  of  the  same  age, 
or  in  the  same  persons  at  different 
ages  ;  in  some  the  failure  is  natural, 
in  others  it  is  acquired  by  various 
circumstances,  which  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  detail.  But  from  whatever 
causes  the  decay  of  sight  arises,  an 
attentive  consideration  of  the  fol- 
lowing rules  will  enable  any  one 
to  judge  for  himself,  when  his  eye- 
sight may  be  assisted  or  preserved 
by  the  use  of  proper  glasses. 

1.  When  we  are  obliged  to  re- 
move small  objects  to  a  considera- 
ble distance  from  the  eye  in  order 
to  see  them  distinctly. 

2.  If  we  find  it  necessar}^  to  get 
more  light  than  formerly;  as,  for 
instance,  to  place  the  candle  be- 
tween the  eye  and  tiie  ol)ject. 

3.  If  on  looking  at  and  atten- 
lively  considering  a  near  object,  it 
fatigues  the  eye  and  becomes  con- 
fused, or  if  it  appears  to  have  a 
kind  of  dimness  or  mist  before  it. 

4.  When  the  letters  of  a  small 
printareseen  torun  intoeach other, 
and  hence,  by  looking  steadfastly 
on  them,  appear  douMe  or  treble. 

5.  If  the  eyes  are  so  fatigued  by 
a  little  exercise,  that  we  are  obli- 
ged to  shut  them  from  time  to  time, 
so  as  to  relieve  theui  by  looking  at 
different  objects. 

When  all  these  circumstances 
concur,  or  any  of  them  separately 
takes  place,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
seek  assistance  from  glasses,  which 
will  ease  the  eyes,  and  in  some  de- 
gree check  their  tendency  to  be- 
come worse:  whereas  if  they  be 
not  assisted  in  time,  the  weakness 


262 


PREPARATION  OF  GOLD  AND  SILVER  BRONZE. 


will  be  coniidera!)ly  increased,  and 
the  eyes  be  impaired  by  tbe  efforts 
they  are  compelled  to  exert. 

It  is  therefore  evident  that  spec- 
tacles can  only  be  said  to  be  pre- 
servers of  the  sight,  or  recommend- 
ed as  such,  to  those  whose  eyes  are 
actually  beginning  to  fail ;  and  that 
it  would  be  as  absurd  to  advise  the 
use  of  spectacles  to  those  wiio  feel 
none  of  the  foregoing  inconve- 
iiiencies,  as  it  would  be  for  a  man 
in  health  to  use  crutches  to  save 
his  legs.  

rUEPARATION  OF  GOLD  AND  SILVER 
BRONZE. 

A  beautiful  gold-coloured  pow- 
der has  long   l)een   known   in   the 
arts,    under    the    name   of    bronze 
powder,  or  mosaic go/ri,  and  is  chiefly  i 
prepared   at   Nuremberg,  in   Ger-  j 
many,  wliere  tlie  process  is  said  to 
be  kept  a  secret.     It  is  met  with 
in   commerce  of  different  colours, 
and  always  is  in  the  {"orm  of  a  scaly  | 
powder,  very   soft    aiid    glossy    to 
the    touch,    readily    rubbed    down 
between  the  fingers,  and  when  the 
colour  is  brought   out  by  a  little; 
friction,  it  has  a  fine  golden  me-  j 
tallic  lustre.     It  is  chiefly  used  for  i 
giving  a  bronze  colour  to  figures  i 
of  plaster  of  Paris,  in  japanning, 
in  varnish-painting,  and  lor  other 
ornamental  purposes.     As  most  of 
the  receipts  that  have  been   given 
by  different  authors  for  preparing  , 
this    article,  are  but  ill  suited  to 
ensure  success,  we  shall  here  lay 
beforeour  readers  the  best  and  most 
economical  method  for  obtaining  it. 

Take  12 oz.  of  grain  tin  ;  7oz.  of 
flower  of  sulphur;  muriate  of  am- 
monia and  quicksilver,of  each  6oz. : 
melt. the  tin  by  itself,. and  when 
cpoled  a  little,  pour  into  it  the 
quicksilver;  and  when   the   amal- 


gam thus  produced  is  cold,  let  it 
be  rubbed  to  powder,  mix  it  with 
the  sulphur  and  muriate  of  ammo- 
nia, and  sublime    the   whole  in  a 
glass  flask  on  a  sand-bath.     Apply 
a  gentle  fire  for  some  time,  till  the 
white  fumes  which  issue  from   the 
orifice  of  the  flask  begin  to  cease; 
then  raise  the  heat  till  the  sand  be- 
comes red  hot ;  and  keep  the  heat  at 
that  point,  neither  increasing  nor 
diminishing  it,  for  a  considerable 
time,  according  to  tiie  quantity  of 
the  materials.     The  matrass  when 
cold,  if  broken,  will  afford  a  beau^Y 
tiful  mass  of  gold  bronze.     A  good;» 
deal  of  care  is  required  in  this  pro- 
cess with   regard    to   the  manage-j 
ment  of  the  heat :  if  the  fire  is  too  , 
slack,   no  bronze  will   be  formed  ; 
and  if  urged    beyond   a  moderate,, 
redness,  tlie  product  will  haveadull,>, 
chrty  appearance,  and   be  without 
lustre.     It  is  tiot  absolutely  neces-  ; 
sary  that  the  operation  be  performed  j 
in  a  glass  flask,  it  may  be.doneas<| 
well  in  a  crucible.    To  make  10  or.'t 
12 lbs.  of  it,  requires  about  eight/ 
hours.  /ornsi    ifbr 

Preparulion  of  SUter  Bronze. 

This  metallic  compound,  which i* 
in  the  form  of  extremely  minute 
Silvery  flakes,  is  used  as  a  pig-:; 
ment,  for  giving  a  silver  metallicB 
lustre  to  plaster  casts,  metal,  papeiv^- 
&c.  It  is  prepared  in  the  follow*.i| 
ing  manner  : —  n 

Take  3oz.  of  grain  tin,  and  the 
same  quantity  of  bismuth;  melt' 
them  together  in  a  crucible  or  iron-:; 
ladle,  and  stir  the  alloy  till  a  com- 
plete union  has  been  obtained. 
Then  take  the  crucible  out  of  the 
fire,  and  when  the  fused  mass  be- 
gins to  solidify,  pour  into  it  3oz. 
of  quicksilver  .previously  boated, 
and  stir  the  mass  togetlier..,}  hbij  3?'- 


METHOD  OF  REMOVING  CREASE  SPOTS  AND  DESTROY  IXG  ISTSKCTS. 


263 


Previously  to  usin<^  this  amalgam,  I 
it  must  be  ground  on  a  stone  or  i 
Wedgwood's  mortar,  with  the  white  j 
of  egg  and  spirit-varnish,  and  in  i 
this  state  applied  to  the  intended 
work.  \V  hen  dry  it  may  be  l>nr-  j 
nished  in  the  usual  manner,  and  | 
has  then  very  much  the  appearance 
of  silver. 


process  has  been  employed  on  a 
paper  written  on  \\  ith  common  ink, 
or  printed  with  printer's  ink,  it 
will  experience  no  alteration. 


PROCESS  OF  REMOVING  SPOTS  OF 
OIL  AND  GREASE  FROM  BOOKS 
AND  PRINTS. 

After  having  gently  warmed  the 
paper  soiled  with  grease,  wax,  oil, 
or  any  other  fatty  body  whatever, 
lake  out  as  much  as  possible  of  it 
by  means  of  blotting-paper  ;  then 
tiip  a  small  brush  in  rectified  oil  of 
lemons  or  turpentine*,  previously 
warmed, and  draw  it  gently  over  boiii 
sides  of  the  paper,  which  must  be 
carefully  kept  warm.  This  operation 
may  be  repeated  as  many  times  as 
the  quantity  of  the  fat  body  imbibed 
by  the  paper,  or  the  thickness  of 
the  paper,  may  render  necessary. 
When  the  greasy  substance  is  en- 
tirely removed,  recourse  may  be 
had  to  the  following  method  to 
restore  the  paper  to  its  former 
vviiiteness,  if  not  completely  re- 
stored by  the  first  process: — Dip 
another  brush  in  a  mixture  of  one 
part  by  bulk,  of  sulphuric  ether,  and 
two  of  alcohol,  and  draw  it  in  like 
manner  over  the  place  that  was 
stained,  and  particularly  round  the 
edges,  to  remove  the  border  tliat 
may  s»ill  exist  as  a  stain.  By  em- 
ploying these  means,  with  pro- 
per caution,  the  spots  will  totally 
disappear;  the  paper  will  resume 
its  original  wliitcness;  and  if  the 

*  The  article  sold' in  'ilie  shops  iinder 
the  name  of  fcniniiiz'  dihpx,  is  nothing 
ebe  than  oil'e*'ileaicrrts«!i:J4fli  dUJ  n^^iHi' 


METHOD  OF  Di:STl{0  VING  OR  DRIV- 
ING AWAY  KARTU -WORMS,  CA- 
TERPILLARS, AND  OTHER  INSECTS 
WHICH  ARE  HURTFUL  TO  FIELDS 
AND    GARDENS. 

Though  it  is  certain  tliat  earth- 
wormsoccasion  great  destruction  by 
gnawing  the  tender  filaments  of  the 
roots  of  shrubs  and  j)lants  ;  and  that 
other  insects,  such  as  caterpillars, 
&,c.  are  exceedingly  huriful  both  to 
the  fields  and  gardens,  few  persons 
have  given  themselves  liie  trouble  to 
devise  any  remedy  fortius  evil.  As 
the  destructive  power  of  quick- 
lime, with  an  alcali,  when  applied 
to  orjranic  matter,  has  been  lonir 
known,  this  substance  has  been 
proved  the  cheapest  and  most  ef- 
fectual to  destroy  those  animals, 
A  weak  solution  of  common  pearl- 
ash  rendered  caustic  by  slaked 
quick-lime,  and  formed  into  a  fiuid 
of  the  consistence  of  milk,  need 
only  be  poured  into  those  lioles  in 
which  the  earth-worms  rv  side  under 
ground;  the  effect  of  which  will 
be,  that  the  animal  will  immediately' 
throw  itself  out  of  its  abode,  and, 
after  various  contortions,  either 
languish  or  die.  If  the  leaves  of 
plants  or  fruit-trees  frequented  by 
caterpillars  be  sprinkled  over  wiili 
a  diluted  liquor  of  this  kind,  the 
insects  suddenly  contract  their  bo- 
dies and  drop  to  the  ground  :  for 
though  nature  has  defendeil  them 
toleraiily  "ell  by  a  covering  of  hairs 
from  any  thing  that  might  injure 
their  delicate  bodies,  yet,  as  soon 
as  they  touch  with  their  feet  or 
mouth,    leaves   which    have    been 


264- 


STILTON  CHEESR-**lS^,AY^»r#N«RAVED  SILVER. 


moistened  by  thisiiqiiQr,  tbeybe^jise^iv^ate^,  compress  it  gradually  ^ill, 


come  as  it  were,  stupified,  4i>sj§ut^; 
Jy  contracting  tbemselveiSjaaAdtfaili 
down.  <; ■.  ^  -,.- V   ' 

With  regard  to  tl>e  vegetable 
substances  to  whicii  a  dilute  solu- 
tion ot"  the  caustic  alcaliis  brought 
into  contact,  it  will  be  proved  jthat 
they  suffer  no  injury.  The  fluid 
should  be  applied  during  a  dry 
season.  It  niuy  be  prepared  by 
dissolving  one  part  of  American 
pearl-ash  or  pot-ash,  or  common 
subqarbonate  of  pot-asli  or  soda, 
or  the  impure  alcali  called  grey 
salt,  in  20  parts  of  water,  and  add- 
irtg,  to  the  mixture  four -parts  rof;, 
shdked  quick-lime,  and  a  sufficient 
qiiantity  of  water  to  f*)rm  a  fluid  of 
tUte,.  consistence  of  u\m  cres^n^j^^-ri 
The  want  of  pearl-ash  may-be  sup- 
plied by  tight  or  ten  times  the  1 
quantity  of  common  weod^ashea^ 


PROCESS     OF     MAKING   -grTiltLTiQNb i^ 
nsiJw  »F  fj^-(CHfiESEi'^}grn8'>  ntl  9fi 
-The  Stilton  cheese,  which  nfray 


|it.l)as  «wjqDire<l  a  firm  consistence,j,> 
tlien- place  it  in  a  wooden  hoop, 
a^d  suf^prTjijt  :to  dry  very  gradually 
6n.i^bflard^.taking  care,  at  the  same 
timcy  to  tnrn  it  daily  with  close 
benders  ronnd  it,  and  which  must 
be  lightened  as  the  cheese  acquir^^; 
Hjore  solidity^.  ,        ,    ,^/{ 

The  qelebrated  cream-cheese  ofj 
Liflcolosliir^is  made  by  adding  the-; 
cream  of  one  meal's  milk,  to  milk^ 
which  conaes  immediately  from  the; 
cowjrj I, tUpseiari^  pressed  gently  tw%„ 
or  three  times,  turned  for  a  few 
days,  and  disposed  for  sale,  to  be 
eaten  while  new,  with  radishes,  ssU^. 

lad,  &c.  .j^if 

PEUSI AN  METHOD  OF  INLAYING  ENn 
i  -.^lAVED   SIJLVER    WITH   A   UURA- 

ELE;   BLACK    ENAMEL,    -f,         ,•      ;; 

It  i«  well  know-n  that  aU  the  rich 
articles  of  silver  platebrought  from 
Persia  and  India  are  ornamented 
with  a  beautiful  glossy  black  ena- 
iragl,  which  very  neatly  fills  up  the 
engraved  ornaments  of  the  articles.- 
The  process  practised  for  that  pur- 


be  called  the  Parmesan  of  England, 
ist^iiot  confined  to  Stilton  ^Bdijtsj  pose  by  the  Indian,  and  of  late  also 
vicinity,  for  many  farmers  in  Hunt- I  by  the  Russian  jewellers, i.i^.iljhe 
ingdonbiHre,andalsoin  Rutlandand  I  following :—        ■  J-— v'Ov 

Northamptonshire,  make  a  simribtrJ|      They  take  foz.  of  silver,  2|  oZf, 
sort,  sell  them  for  the  same   price,  !  of  copper,  3|;OZ.  of  lead,  12  oz.  of: 


an<i  give  tiiem  the  name  of  Stilton 
cheeses;  and  there  is  no  d®ubt  ^hat 
the  inhabitants   of  other  counHes 
might  make  as  good  cheese  .as.- that _ 
of.  Stiltony-i-f  they -would  adh^jretWi 
the  right  plan,  which  is  this:-— =■      ■. 
T^ake  the  night's  cream  and  put  .- 
it  to  the  morning's  new  milk,  with 
the  rennet;  when  the  curd  is  se- 
parated, let  it  not  be  broken,  as  is^; 
done  with  other  cheese,  bat  take  it 
out,  disturbing  it  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, and  suffer  it  to  dry  very  gra- 
dually in  a  sieAf«  j'lindas  the  whey  ^ 


sulphur,  and  2|  oz.  of  muriate  of 
ammonia.  These  substances  are 
melted  together,  and  the  mass, 
poured  into  a  crucible  whioh  has^^ 
l>€en  previotisly  filled  with  p«lve-rj 
rized  sulphur.  The  crucible  i§  then- 
immedialely  covered,  andJtlt^  mass, 
when  cold,  is.  again  expo^4  ^^■ 
heatj  to  drive  oii'  the  super^uous, 
quantity  !©f>  stjlpbur.  wbiQli^Uas  i>oV 
c om hi n ^d ; ^^i^s\,x :i\m  mel^llic-  -c^ooj-^j* 
;  ;p Ht? d  .  T 1^  aum ate.qf  1  &m.rppjD i a  j^ 
if  ^cou  rse  n(H,;<*«iiy  •d-Qcfui}  pM?^  J^Mfc 
al$Q  volatiiige^  duf  ipg)t^i^pr^«S% 


PRESERVATION    OV  GUNPOWl)!  IR. 


2-65 


Tlie  mass  obtained,  which  is  a  true 
supcr-sulpliiiret  of  the  metals  em- 
ployed, is  then  coarsely  pulverized, 
and  with  a  solution  of  muriate  of 
ammonia  formed  into  a  paste,  which 
is  rni)l>ed  in  the  engraved  orna- 
ments of  the  silver.  The  article  is 
then  wiped  clean,  and  suffered  to 
become  so  hot  under  a  muffle,  that 
the  substance  rubbed  into  the  cuts 
made  in  the  silver  by  the  en- 
graver, melts,  and  chemically  com- 
bines with  the  metal.  The  silver  is 
afterwards  wetted  with  the  solution 
of  muriate  of  an)monia,  and  asain 
placed  under  a  muffle  till  it  be- 
comes red  hot;  and,  lastly,  the  en- 
graved surface  is  polished,  and  the 
substance  let  into  the  enin-aved 
surface  exhibits  the  colour  and  so- 
lidity of  a  fine  black  glossy  ejiamel, 
which  suflPers  no  change  by  age. 


PRESF.UVATION    OF    GUNPOWDER. 

Gunpowder,  by  reason  of  the 
nitre  which  enters  into  its  compo- 
iition  having  been  partially  de- 
prived of  its  water  of  crystalliza- 
tion, and  the  known  attraction  of 
charcoal  for  humidity,  is  always 
somewhat  disposed  to  deliquesce; 
and  although  it  does  not  actually 
liquefy, or  become  unfit  for  souteof 
the  purposes  to  which  it  is  applica- 
ble, yet  for  those  of  the  sportsman, 
to  whom  the  quickness  of  its  com- 
munication is  of  the  highest  conse- 
quence, it  is  generally  in  a  state 
very  inferior  to  what  it  would  be 
found  if  a  greater  degree  of  care 
was  taken  in  its  preservation.  It 
is  oidy  when  it  has  received  but  a 
very  slight  injury  from  damp,  that 
the  mischief  is  capable  of  a  reme- 
dy ;  when  once  ii  has  become  at  all 
concreted,  drying  it  will  no  longer 
restore  its  power.  The  nitre  will 
FpI.  II.  No.  XI. 


be  found,  on  examination  with  a 
magnifier,  to  he  crystallized,  and 
the  strength  and  quickness  of  the 
powder  are  considerably  and  per- 
manently impaired,  probably  even 
before  this  symptom  has  appeared. 
It  is  evident  that  no  vessel  is  suffi- 
ciently close  to  prevent  this  cir- 
cumstance from  taking  place,  but 
such  as  is  perfectly  air-iight. 
There  cannot  ()crh:ips  be  a  much 
stronger  proof  of  the  insufficiency 
of  the  packages  in  general  use  for 
this  purpose,  than  the  opinion  of  a 
consideralde  dealer  in  liiis  article, 
to  whom  the  matter  was  lately  men- 
tioned. He  said  he  was  convinced 
that  powder  would  be  found  to 
"  give"  in  some  states  of  the 
weather,  though  the  vessel  which 
contained  it  was  ever  so  close:  a 
notion  which  may  perhaps  have 
contributed  to  prevent  the  adop* 
tio-n  of  more  effectual  means.  He 
added,  that  it  is  found  to  do  so  in 
the  tin  canisters  as  much  as  when 
packed  in  brown  paper.  The  re- 
medy is,  however,  extremeU'  easy. 
Nothing  more  is  necessary  than  to 
cut  off  the  communication  with  the 
atmosphere:  an}'  vessel  in  which 
chemists  keep  muriate  of  lime, 
acetate  of  pot-ash,  or  common  salt 
of  tartar,  dry,  will  of  course  keep 
gunpowder  in  the  same  state  of 
perfection  as  when  first  inclosed. 
For  a  quantity  not  exceeding  a 
pound,  w!<ich  is  not  intended  to  be 
frequently  removed  from  phice  to 
place,  common  ten  or  twelve-ounce 
phials  ansaer  extremely  well ;  and 
if  half  a  dozen  of  them  be  put  into 
a  case,  there  cannot  perha|)s  be  a 
more  convenient  magazine.  They 
shouhl  be  filled  as  full  as  possible, 
and  the  powder  well  corked  up  at 
the   necks,   the   corks   being   tied 

IS    N 


260 


MEMOIR    OF    MARY    DE    MtDlCIS, 


over  u'itli  bladder  and  tinibil.  As, 
however,  iliere  might  be  some  dan- 
ger of  explosion  from  the  accident- 
al fr.-icture  of  one  of  these,  if  this 
method  were  to  be  adopted  for 
large  quantities,  it  would,  in  that 
case,  be  necessary  to  use  some  other 
material  than  glass;  and  if  instead 
of  t'ne  slide  now  inserted  into  the 
tin  canister,  a  turned  pewter  neck, 
like  that  of  a  common  phial,  and 
capable  of  being  likewise  stopped 
with  a  small  cork,  were  soldered 
into  the  top,  and  in  order  to  get 
out  the  contents,  that  it  should  be 
l^t  into  a  semi-  cylindrical  liollow  in 
thesideoftiie  canister  :  when  cork- 
ed up,  the  top  of  liie  cork  might  be 
cut  off,  and  tlie  whole  a()erture 
covered  vvitli  a  plaster  of  thick  dry- 


ing paint,  or  wax  and  turpentine 
spread  on  a  piece  of  tinfoil.  None 
of  the  flasks,  the  best  of  wliich  are 
those  of  copper  or  tin,  are  fit  for 
preserving  the  powder  longer  than 
when  in  use;  during  which  the 
charger  should  be  kept  corked — a 
precaution  the  effects  of  which  will 
be  found  considerable, 

There  are  some,  perhaps,  who 
may  not  conceive  these  remarks  to 
be  very  n)aterially  conducive  to  the 
general  reader,  but  he  to  whom  it 
has  frequently  happened  to  miss 
an  excellent  cross  shot,  from  his 
powder  hanging  fire — quccque  ip&e 
mi.serrima  villi — will  scarcely  con- 
sider this  as  the  least  important  ar- 
ticle in  tlie  Novepiiber  Ueposilonj, 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES  AND  ANECDOTEsii! 


'  !o 


MARY   DE    M  EDICTS. 

Bj/  Madame  de  Genus. 

Mary,  daughter  of  Francis  II.  j  considered,  do  not  hold  princes  re- 
ef Medi(is,Grand-DukeofTusca-  sponsible  for  the  faults  of  their 
ny,  and  wife  of  Henry  the  Great,  ,  ministers,  when  they  have  chosen 
was  born  at  Florence  in  1600.  Tiie     them    through    motives    of  public 


imperious,  jealous,  and  ambitions 
character  of  Mary,  caused  all  her 
misfortunes;  with  a  more  liberal 
mind,  she  might  have  acted  a  great 
part  after  the  death  of  Henry  IV.: 
she  had  courage  and  dignity,  if  not 
in  her  character,  at  least  in  her 
ideas — useless  or  dangerous  qua- 
lities   in     a    princess -regent    who 


utility;  but  they  do  not  excuse 
them  when  a  favourite,  without 
merit  or  abilities,  is  elevated,  be- 
cause they  suppose  that  the  sove- 
reign has  acted  less  for  the  interest 
of  the  state,  than  to  gratify  a  per- 
sonal affection,  which,  in  this  case, 
is  always  a  culpable,  and  often  a 
ridiculous  weakness.     The   Presi- 


wants  discrimination  and  under-  ]j  dent  Henault  iias  made  use  of  a 
standing.  Mary  wished  to  govern,  ||  striking  and  terrible  expression 
but  had  not  capacity;  slie  n!isj)la- 'j  conceriiing  this  queen,  notwith- 
ced  her  confidence,  and  the  liatred  j  standing  it^e  moderation  of  his  jaii- 
excited  by  her  friends  was  extend-  i  guage.  "  She  did  not  appear,'' 
ed  to  herself.  Th.e  people,  more  j  says  he,  "either  surprised  or  .^f- 
equitable  than  they  are  generally  ||  flicted  enough  at  the  tragic  death 


MF.MOIR    OF    AfAtlY    DE    MEDICIS. 


167 


of  one  of  our  rjrcatrst  kings.'"  'J'IrfS 
is  all  that  history,  in  the  ahsoitfe 
of  proofs,  normiitptl  him  to  say  ;  it 
pnght  to  be  added,  rhai  tht?  whrtJe 
life  of  l\I;iry  de  INJcdicis  s^-rrehs 
l)cr  from  a  suspicion  which  makes 
■OS  shudder.  If  she  had  been  a 
premeditated  areoinplice  i'>  the 
most  horrible  of  assassinations,  IS 
it  likely  that  lisis  wouhi  h^N^'lyren 
her  only  crime?  Mary,  hy  permi't- 
tinrr  herself  to  be  o'overned  for  a 
long  time  by  the  Marshal  (rA!ifre 
and  his  wife,  lost  the  public  love 
and  the  confidcnceof  her  son.  'ibis 
marshal,  when  ordered  to  bcarrrst- 
ed  by  Louis,  was  killed  in  attempt- 
ing to  defend  himself.  It  is  well 
known  that  his  corpse  was  il;:g  up 
hy  ilie  populace,  draggetl  through 
tiie  sire».ts,and  cut  into  a  iLonsand 
pieces;  that  his  intestines  were 
thrown  into  ih.e  Seine,  and  the  rest 
of  his  boily  burnt  upon  the  I'ont- 
Neuf;  that  a  man  tore  out  his 
heart,  had  it  cooked,  and  ate  it 
publicly;  and  that  this  acticni  was 
applauded  by  an  innumerable  mul- 
titude. The  deatli  of  the  unfortu- 
nate marshal,  and  the  punishment 
of  his  wife,  extinguisiicd  the  civi! 
war.  Mary  was  exiled  to  Blois, 
whetice  she  escaped  to  Atigoulemc. 
Uiclielieu,  then  Bisliop  of  Ln(^on, 
and  afterwards  cardinal, reconciled 
the  mother  and  son.  Mar}*,  dissa- 
tisfied at  the  hon-pcrformancc  of 
tlie  treaty,  rekindled  the  war;  she 
was  sooiv  obliged  to  submit;  but 
th^  king's  favourite,  the  Constable 
dc  Liiyne;^,  att  enemy  of  the  queen, 
died,  and  Mat^  Regained  her  inllu- 
eiifcc't^t-er  Hre  rnind  of  the  weak 
L6ur'^'>:nT."^S'be  eUu«^ed  her  sit- 
p^iVilt^ttdWyf,  :^ic^her*eu,' to  be  :ii\- 
mi iiif-.l  'ri-f f 6' Wircdd^iiiil . '  STi'e  'pi^fe'- 
t ei)'(¥ed '  1^3^  \-e v^ii  ih  r o'lrg'h  \?i  m ,  an  d 


f  . 


RicheHen  wislscd  lo  govern  f^-JPthti 
good  of  thesti^te,  unii  for  tbc  glory 
f>t''KrArtce.'  The  ingratiiude  of  l\:i- 
fh't^liV^u  has  been  severely  cen- 
s'ured  5  but  does  gratitude  retpiire 
(Vortj  a  minister  the  sacrifice  of  his 
mulerstanding  ?  Mar}'  complained 
and  tiirt-atened ;  she  resoiied  to 
ruin  the  friend  who  refustd  to  he- 
■com^  her  creature;  but  the  genius 
of  Richelieu  was  capable  of  defeat- 
ing all  the  intrigues  of  malice,  ha- 
ired, and  and)ition.  The  cardnial 
used  every  endeavour  to  soften  the 
unjust  resentment  of  tiie  queen  ; 
hut  finding  that  she  was  in!]eKibl(^, 
and  was  now  become  his  implaca- 
ble enemy,  he  directed  his  thonghis 
to  her  removal  for  ever  from  court. 
But,  after  having  already  exhaust- 
ed all  the  arguments  which  couKl 
induce  the  king  to  be  reconciled 
to  even  a  guilty  parent,  atnl  after 
having  detailed  and  spoken  so 
highly  of  the  sacred  rights  of  a  mo- 
ther and  the  duties  of  filial  piety, 
how  could  Ite  prevail  on  Louis  to 
banish  this  same  c.ueen  ?  At  this 
critical  period  Richelieu  had  re- 
course to  a  most  artful  expedient. 
A  secret  council  was  assembled,  iri 
which  the  cardinal  spoke  at  great 
length;  he  began  by  owning,  that 
the  invincible  enmity  of  tlie  queen 
to  him  took  away  all  his  liopes  of 
restoring  internal  tranquillity:  hie 
added,  tliat  a  sovereign  could  not 
iyalanee  between  his  mother  and 
liis  hiinister  ;  that  he  expected' to 
be  sacrificed  ;  that  he  consented  to 
it;  that  he  tendered  his  resigna- 
tion; that  he  felt  but  one  regret, 
tiiat'{)f  leaving  the  state  in  so  cri- 
tical a  situation.  He  aftei-wards 
(Vr^'^  so  li'c'el}'  and  striking  a  pic- 
tiit^  of  tbc  daiiGcers  wliicdi  threat- 
tVi'ed  Fi-ance,  that  Louis  XIIL  na- 
N  N  2 


''M^ 


ni:  nvfi- 


MEMOIR   OF   MARY   DE' MEDICJS.w«TtT/.*^   3HT 


turally  concluded,  that  he  who 
could  soably  develope  all  theevils 
he  had  to  fear,  could  alone  prevent 
them.  It  was  then  unaniinously 
resolved  to  remove  the  queen,  at 
least  tor  a  time.  She  was  permit- 
ted to  chuse  her  place  of  residence ; 
and  all  those  who  had  been  attach- 
ed to  her,  were  either  exiled  or 
confined  in  the  Bastille.  These 
persecutions  were  odious  and  in- 
discreet: true  policy  is  always  ge- 
nerous; it  ought  to  have  all  the 
forms  of  justice  and  of  greatness, 
because  it  is  the  expression  of  the 
principles  of  the  morality  aad  of 
the  sentiments  of  the  prince.  These 
arbitrary  measures  were  of  benefit 
to  the  cause  of  Mary.  She  was 
now  regarded  as  an  oppressed 
queen  and  mother.  Louis  XIII. 
published  a  declaration,  addressed 
to  the  parliaments  and   governors 

■:  of  the  provinces,  to  justify  his  con- 
duct and  that  of  his  minister ;  in 
which  step  he  lowered  himself,  and 
.  sliewed  the  last  degreeof  weakness. 

•..•A^good  king  ought  to  account  to 

»  his  subjects  for  the  motives  of  a 
war,  or  any  great  political  actio-n, 
but  he  ouglit  to  throw  a  veil  over 

domestic  alttiirs;  he  is  wanting  in 
dignity  wh.en  he  gives  ari  useless 
publicity  to  wiiat  passes  in  his  fa- 

"'■'^liliilyv     Louis  could  not  justify  his 

-'^  V<*ving  removed  his  mother  froiii 
cQiirt,  and  confining  her,  without 
complaining  heavily  of  her;  and 
that  alone  is  a  fault  which  causes 

'  very  few  to  give  credit  to  thejusti- 
fication.  In  short,  if  Louis  XIII. 
had  known  his  duty  and  his  privi- 
leges, he  would  have  respected  his 

'  Hkother,  and  assumed  the  royal  au- 
thority without  uoisq  or  confusion. 
Mary,  detainetl- ill  Compiegne, 
Bseaped,  and  retired  tu  BrasseUin 


i63L^  From  that  time  she  neither 
saw  her-  son  nor  Paris,  which  she 
had  embellished  with  nionumetits 
that  perpetuate  her  memory.  A 
troublesome  and  jealous  wife,  an 
ambitious  mother  and  regent,  a 
violent,  vindictive,  and  imprudent 
princess,  Mary  worthily  maintain- 
ed the  glory  of  the  nan)e  of  Medi- 
cis,  so  dear  to  the  Muses  and  to  the 
friends  of  the  arts.  The  beautiful 
palaceoftheLuxembourg  was  built 
by  her  orders;  she  caused  superb 
aqueducts  (works  till  her  time  un- 
known in  France)  to  be  erected, 
and  founded  monasteries.  To  her 
we  are  indebted  for  the  promenade 
which  still  bears  the  name  of  Cours 
de  la  Heine,  and  for  the  admirable 
gallery  of  pictures  painted  by  Ru- 
l)ens,  which  contains,  among  other 
master-pieces,  that  in  which  Mi- 
nerva advises  Henry  the  Great  to 
unite  himself  with  Mary,  and  that 
representing  Mary  just  before  the 
birth  of  Louis  XIII.  Mary  pro- 
tected the  father  of  French  poetry  ; 
she  knew  how  to  appreciate  the 
verses  of  Malherbe^  This  princess, 
the  widow  of  Henry  the  Great,  the 
mother  of  a  king  of  France^  mother- 
in-law  of  two  kings,  and  grand- 
mother of  Louis  the  Great, xiied  in 
indigence  at  Cologne,  July,  3, 164-2. 
The  dread iul  privations  to  which 
this  unhappy  princess  was riediiced 
during  the  last  years  oi  her  life, 
will  always  bean  indelible  stain  on 
the  character  of  Louis  XI M.  We 
can  scarcely  conceive,  that:{iaite- 
pendently  of  all  filial  affection)'  a 
sovereign,  a  king  of  France,  could 
have  so  little  generosit^^tfeuo  per- 
mit his  mother  to  remain  in  su^h  a 
situation.  This  monstrous  deser- 
tion is  as  injurious  leo, she  re'gal 
character,  as  revolting  t{>i>atUFe4 


THE    NATURK    A^^D    USF.    OF    DAY-LIGHT    JN    THET  FINE    ARTS. 


269 


Tlie  prelate  Chiiri,'«Weii  ndhoib,  ipfectly  natural.  Mary  admired  de- 
'  and  afterwards  po|ie,  by  rhc  imme  I  vict's;  slie  had  taken  in  1008  a  Juno 
>'of  Altixaiider  VII.  was  with  Mary  ;  ieaninj^  upon  her  peacock,  witli 
/wheTi  on  her  death -bed,  and  asked  I  these  words,  Firo  partuque  beata. 
.'viher  if  she  pardoned   lier  enemies,  !  After  tlie  deatii  of  Henry  iV.  she 


tespecially  the  C'ardinal  de  lliche- 
>'Jieu.  She  answered,  *'  Yesywith 
all  my  heart."  The  nuncio  pro- 
posed to  her  to  send  to  the  cardi- 
snal,  as  a  mark  of  her  entire  forgive- 
.!  ness,  a  bracelet  vvliich  she  wore  on 


took  a  pelican  opening  her  bosom 
for  her  young,  and  this  motto,  Te- 
git  virtide  miuores.  The  passions 
of  this  princess  were  so  violent, 
that  her  anger  became  madness: 
it  is  said  she  wept  with  such  vehe- 


iher  arm.  The  queen  replied,  '  mence,  that  her  tears  did  not  flow, 
n^'^That  is  too  great  a  condesceia-  'but.  started  forth  in  a  fri<jhtful 
"sion  :"   an    answer  which    at    any  u  tnannerg  lo  s  ..;   ,  ^aiK,'t 

^i-Other  time  would  have  been   per-  ^  ^  :,j  iioi^soiq/.;^  ;.  o^aad 

IQil  o  ■  :  sbiTOoi  '  I,  I       ii  );tpri  'piiaioi-i  i juiiq 

,.  MISCELLANIES.  '  rtrdi« 

sidiiijmtji.  iS'.ss'A  v>     r-'s»-^  ib   o* 

-■oilydLTHE    NATURE   AND    USE   OF    DAY-LIGH'Fii    -f^ou 
rfidjo  ;Linci'.'. .  A  recent  Discovery  in  the  Pliilosopliy  of  the  Fine  Arts.  •"■    M'i')up 

IVl    thid'  jVi^,,j.^  ,,j,p,.^  are  btirtit'^w^,  UsiUixt^aDdjf'^'^'-^  •  '['^"'^ 

OJ  iay.'}  fetaiuls  tipioe  oil  tlie  inisty  uiomitaiirs  top.— '—SitAKSPEARE.  'I 


j.iiu'iQN  the  last  day  of  the  celebrated 
sJExuiBiTioN  of  Dutch  and  Fle- 
-4W1SH  Pictures  at  the  Bimtish  I^;- 


ers  of  this  collection.  The  f©\v 
persons  who  still  remained  in  the 
rooms  discovered  them  at  tlie  same 


*TlTUTlON,l remained watchingthe  1]  moment   that  I  did;  one  of  whom 


osolemnity  of  their  effectas  the  gloom  j 
,yofthe  evening  advanced.  I  reflected  J 
^On  the  lasting  fame  of  tiie  0/d  Alas-  i 


instantly  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  before  the  IjIocIc  figure,  and 
endeavoured  to  catch   hold  of  his 


ters  whose  works  hung  around  me,     robe. — "  Permit   me,"    he    crjetl, 

landimaginedhowgratifylngitmust  !j  "most  sublime  spirit,  to  penetrate 

ti  1)6  to  the  Spirits  of  these  Great  Men,  I  the   gloom   that    surrounds    thee  t 

,Vto  be  permitted  to  witness  the  ad-  h  But,  alas!  wl^at  mortal  eyehaspow- 


iijniration  still  bestowed  upon  them. 
ir  Whether  I  uttered  this  tl.oughtor 
,-  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  inunediately 


er  to  enter  into  the  profomid  abyss 
o^'thy  genius,  or  to  obtain  even  a 
gliiDpse  of  that   mysterious  world 


ija  voice  near  uie  exclaimed,  in  a  jl  which  , darkness  a-lone  i/A<"ii'^es.-''*' 
i»'tiollow  tone,  "Mighty  gratifying  L.This  speech  was  suddenly  inter- 
--trnlyl"  I  turned,  and  saw  a  /R«i>;e  ,i  rupted  by  a  horse-laugh  from  the 
£  figure  wrapped  in  an  old  black  silk  '  whole  troop  of  ghosts,  which.  I 
i.iinantle,  lined  with  fur,  standing  J  thought  would  nevur  have  ended. 
-  before  the  pictureof  TVif?  n'/.se.'l/p//\s  j;  Rembrandt  seemed  to  enjoy  it  aft 
.  Opering.     It  was  Rembrandt  him-  !i  heartily  as  any  of  the  rest,  and  ac-« 

seUV  surrounded  by  a  group  of  1  tuallv  set  u[)  a  shout  asthe  aaio- 
.yiOther  figures,  whom  I  immediately  ■  nisluxi  Cufinoiifeur  retreated  to  the 

perceived  i^.li».  the  princi^jal  paint-  tj  siajicase  and  made  his  escgpe*.  : 


270 


THE    NATURE   AKD    USE    OF   DAY-LIGHT    IN    THE    FINE   ARTS. 


The  part)'  now  separated,  and  as 
they  sauntered  about  the  rooms,  I 
was  particularly  struck  by  the  mo- 
dest air  and  pleasant  countenance 
of  Teniers,  who  ran   round  to  all 
his  own  pictures,  and  at  last  fixed 
himself  before  No.  102.     A  young 
man  ventured  to  approach  and  look 
at  it  with  him.     "Well,  sir,"  said 
Teniers,    turning    sharply    round, 
*'  what  is  your  opinion  of  tliis  pic- 
ture?"—"I    think,"    he    replied, 
"  that  it  possesses  much  of  the  true 
character  and   humour  of  our  ad- 
mirable Hogarth." — "You  do  me 
great  honour  indeed,"  replied  the 
ghost :  "  but  pray  tell,  me  what  you 
think  it  wants." — "  It  would  be  a 
daring  attempt,  sir,  in  me,  and  an 
ungrateful  one  too,"  he  answered, 
"to  seek  for  imperfections  in  those 
works  which   have  always  aiTorded 
me  the  highest  examples  of  excel- 
lence, and  whose  beauties  first  in- 
spired me  with  a  love  of  the  art 
itself."  — "  Flattery,    my    friend," 
interrui)ted  Teniers,  "  is  too  light 
food   even  for   a  ghost.     I  assure 
you,  the  great  source  of  our  hap- 
piness in   this  after-life,  of  which 
yours  is  but  the  sliadow,  is,  to  be- 
come sensible  of  the  errors  of  our  I 
former   existence;    and    whenever! 
we  revisit  this  mortal  scene,  it  is  [ 
to  enjoy  the  delight  of  seeing  that ! 
our  successors  have  not  only  pro-  I 
fited   by  our   example,  but   freed  j 
themselves  from  our  prejudices." —  I 
"Pardon  me,  generous  spirit,"  re- 
plied the  young  man,  "a  reserve 
which  even  living  artists  do  not  re- 
quire;   from    their   youth    upward 
making  it  their  guiding  principle 
to  be  sincere  to  themselves,  and  to 
solicit  and    expose  themselves    to 
every  species   of  criticism   and   to 
every  test  of  truth." — "Speak,  then, 


to  me,"  said  the  Spirit,  "as  you 
would  to  an  artist  of  your  own  day 
who  askedyour  opinion  of  his  work: 
what  deficiency  is  there  in  this  pic- 
ture?"— "I  will  tell  you  then  free- 
ly, Teniers,"  said  he,  "  and  I  have 
no  doubt  you  will  agree  with  me  : 
it  wants  the  effect  of  day-light."— 
"  Bless  me,  I  meant  it  for  sunshine." 
— "I  see  you  did.  But,  pray,  was 
there  no  clear  «57cy  in  your  days  ?  and 

did  not  THE  BRO.'iD  lU.UE  LIGHT  OF 

THK  ATMOSPHERE  shine  then  as  it 
does  now  ?  It  is  this,  which  I  mean  by 
the  term  day-LIGHI',  as  distinguish- 
ed iVom  tite  direct  light  of  t lie  Sun. 
And  this  light  from  the  Sky  should 
fall  perpendicularly  upon  the  topa  of 
all  objects,  whether  the  sun  shine 
upon  them  or  not.  I  find,  in  nature, 
it  is  //•/*•  which  gives  thechief  splen- 
dour of  sunsliine,  by  contrasting  the 
golden\\\\\\  iUc  azure  light ;  but3oiir 
sky  is  so  dreadfully  clouded  up,  that, 
where  the  sun  does  not  immediate- 
ly strike,  every  object  is  of  a  som- 
bre brown  or  black  hue." — "  By 
heaven  !  you  have  hit  it,"  said  the 
ghost,  and  ran  directly  to  call  his 
brethren,  and  explain  to  them  what 
it  seems  they  Isad  none  of  them  ever 
considered  (1.). 

I  perceived  that  the  party  were 
thrown  into  some  confusion.  In  a 
short  time,  however,  he  returned  ; 
and  introducing  the  modern  critic, 
they  all  shook  hands  with  him-: 
Rembrandt,  in  particular,  seemed 
to  squeeze  him  so  hard,  that  I  could 
almost  imagine  he  must  have  felt 
the  pressure.  "What,"  said  he, 
"  are  you  the  bold  modern  who 
dares  to  accuse  the  splendid,  the 
magnificejit  Rubens  here,  of  ex- 
cluding from  his  dark  autumnal 
shades  the  azure  light  of  day  !"^ — ; 
"  I  confess,"  interrupted  the  digni- 


THK    NATURE   AND    USE    OF   DAY-I.IGHT    IN    Til  fi    FINT'    ARTS.      271 

tied  Uuheps,  "the  charjjfe  is  just;  i  "Ri^lit,"  iiiterrupteclTeniers, "that 
i  ju  vrr  tliDULiht  oi"  it,  aiitl  should  1  picture,  yonder,  of  the  Duke  of 
have  been  ^hui  of  the  hint  a  little  ;  Buckingham,  of  whicli  the  Earl  of 
earlier." — "  Nay,  nay.  Sir  Peter,"  ,j  Jersey  is  tlie  happy  proprietor,  was 
exclaimed  tl»e  black  spirit,  "  here  it  done  exactly  in  the  same  way.  You 
shines  distinctly  on  the rp//erf/ort  (-2.)  i  may  see,  my  dear  Vandyke,  your 
of  your  Cow  in  the  water;"  and  he  ||  own  faiuuritc  Bronn  on  thcyhiV 
y)ointed  tothelandscapeNo.8,  from  I  neck  of  that  fat  goddess  who  y//c9, 


the  collection  of  A.Champernoune. 

"Pray,  Sir  Peter,"  said  one  of 

the  company,  hustling  forward,  and 

whom  I  once  sat  to  for  an  indiiVer- 


if  I  may  he  allowed  the  expression, 
before  the  horse's  head.  But  I 
wonder,  exceedingly,  what  colour 
our  friend  Rembrandt  could  have 


ent  portrait,  "have  the  goodness  j!  u-<ed  in  his  il/^rsArf/ Tz/rff/z/e,  whose 
to  tell  me  your  receipt  for  maiut-  \\  temporary  absence  must  so  much 
facturing  j)ictures.  Did  yon  paint  |i  enliven  the  collection  of  Earl 
on  a  preparation  of  brown  chia- |!  Cowper." — "You  may  wonder," 
roscuro,  or  notr" — "Ask  my  pupil  1  said  he  drily,  "  hut  I  took  the  best 
Vandyke,  sir;  he  knows  all  about  |  possible  way  of  transferring  iltc 
it." — "What,  is  Vandyke  liimsell  |  shudesv/  the  stable  lo  my  ec^uesinzn 
here?  Divine  Sir  Anthony,  do  tell  i  portraits,  by  furnishing  my  palette 
me  the  process  you  used  in  paint-  |  with  the  blaikest  of  the  materials 
ing  this  sublime  picture  of  King  j  I  found  there." — "Fie !"  interrupt- 
Charles  on  horseback." — "  Let  me  '  ed  thecourtly  Vandyke,  and  made  a 
inform  the  gentleman,"  said  Te-  |  slight  grimace  as  he  turned  from 
niers,  "I  see  exactly  how  it  was  1;  the  picture. — "  I  really  guessed  as 
done;  the  jjrocess  was  rather  cu-  i  much,"  said  a  little  mean-looking 
rious.  You  must  know  then  that 'j  Dutch  ghost,  very  much  pitted  with 
my  friend,  Sir  Anthony,  in  his  thesmall-pox,  whose  name  neither 
erjuestrian  portraits,  was  in  the  ha-  j;  Teniers  nor  Vandyke  conld  inform 
bit  of  taking  his  easel  into  the  *7«-  |  nie  of. — "Where  is  Cuyp  all  this 
6/c,  for  tlie  convenience  of  the  while?"  suddenly  exclaimed  Mei^i 
horse;  and,  to  suppUthe  landscape  j'  nerable  father  (if  darkness,  "wiiereis 
in  the  back-ground,  he  dashed  in  I  the  miinnj  Cni/p'f^''  We  turned  and 
the  colours  of  the  ski/  and  trees  jj  saw  him  silting  near  No.  — ,  in  the 
upon  the  Ziul/s  of  the  stable,  the  ||  trulv  |)atriarcl!al  and  pastoral  occii- 
day  before  the  sitter  was  to  come:  il  pation  of  liis  owu  Ccjwherd.  "Tell 
this  you  uill  perceive  made  it  all  [  us,  Cuyp,  your  opinion  ;  wlicn  yo'u 
extremely  easy." — "  But,  the  chia-  !  were  a  landscape-painter,  what  was" 
roscuro,  sir?  the  shadows.  Sir  An-  !  the  colour  of  the  green  grass,  with 
thony  f" — "The  shadows,  sir,"  re-  li  a  clear  blue  Sky  shining  upon  it  r" 
plied  that  genteel  Spirit,  "  I  must  jj  — "A  mixture  of  black  and  yelloxCy 
frankly  conress,  were  all  done  with  '  to  be  sure,"  said  Cuyp:  at  which 
the  colour' which  yon  do  me  the  i  we  all  bur:it  out  a-langhing;  and 
hoDonr  toname  /'f/wZ/y/vV  JJ7W1V/." —  '  every  body  crowded  to  look  at  the 
♦.*  My  i  I  excellent  pupil,"  said  Ru-  i  celebrated  [)icture  of  the  Cowherd  ; 
bens,i'<l  perceive'  yen  faithfully  :|  where,  sure  enough,  we  found  it; 
purgnled'^my   own    method." as  he  said. 


Til 


THE    NATURE   AND    USE    OF   DAY-LIGHT   IN    THE    PINK   ARTS, 


"But,  sir,""  said  my  portrait- 
painter,  "  it  strikes  me  that  yon 
intended  your  pictnre  to  harnno- 
Viize  uitli  a  black  frame.'''' — "To  be 
snre  I  did,  my  friend,  and  I  suc- 
ceeded too.  Look  at  No. — .  The 
weeds,  there,  in  the  fore-ground  of 
tiie  water  are  perfectly  black,  and 
the  stump  of  wood  is  precisely  of 
tlie  sanse  colour.  In  fact,  I  con- 
ceive a  forc-«rround  ought  always 
to  be  black,  or  at  least  dark  brown. 
Don't  tell  me  of  your  azui'e  ligfif, 
it  may  do  well  enough  in  nature; 
there  grass  may  be  green  if  it  likes  ; 
but  in  pictures  it  is  quite  another 
thing.". 

^^>.'i  confess  I  am  decidedly  of 
thkt  opinion,"  he  replied.  "Put, 
for  instance,  one  spot  of  th'\s  azure 
light  on  t!;e  browii  side  of  the  neck 
of  ihat  fying  goddess,  and  j^ou 
would  think  you  saw  the  purple 
morning  sky  slr.tiing  through  a  hole 
in  the  canvas." — "Your  satire  is 
strictly  just,"  said  Rubens. — "  Sa- 
tire, sir!  1  am  serious.  A  little 
i)lue  demi-tint,  here  and  there, 
down  the  edge  of  the  shadows,  is 
what  I  have  always  observed  in  Ru- 

bens's your  pictures,  I   should 

say,  and  Vandyke's;  and  I  take 
fhem  to  be  as  good  authority  as  any. 
I  don't  wish  to  fo/o«/' better,  myself: 
I  am  none  of  your  experimental 
painters,  who  setup  for  geniuses  ; 
they  indeed  seem  to  think  that  the 
art  is  always  j?/s/  commencing,  and  re- 
fer continually  to  nature,  as  if  the 
principles  of  Art  had  not  been  long 
ago  established.  As  to  the  land- 
scape-painters, with  their  devilish 
aerial  perspective,  they  deal  so  much 
in  thin  mist,  and  are  so  fond  of 
space,  that  they  leave  us  scarcely 
any  thing  solid  to  fill  it.  But  still 
t!)e  near  ohjccts  have  hitlierto  re- 


tained some  darkness  and  solidity: 
and  now  comes  this  universal  blue 
Sky-light  pouring  down,  over  fore- 
ground and  all,  one  faint  purple 

glare, For    heaven's    sake,    let 

Nature  be  Nature,  but  let  Art  be 
Art  still !  However,  the  landscape- 
painters  may  be  as  airjj  as  they 
please;  but  1  chuse  to  keep  a  good 
house  over  my  head,  and  to  my 
mind  the  shade  it  affords  is  perfect- 
ly congenial.  It  is  as  natural  for 
one  who  wants  his  portrait  to  sit  in 
a  gloomy  painting-room,  as  to  take 
an  airing  in  Hyde  Park  when  his 
sitting  is  over." 

"  Right,  right,"  exclaimed  Rem- 
brandt, laughing;  "  but  let  Mar- 
shal Turenne  be  a  warning  against 
all  STABLE-PORTRAITS  in  future." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir;  I  approve  of 
the  effect  of  that  picture.  Why 
should  not  a  general  be  painted 
going  upon  some  secret  expedition  h\j 
twilight,  an  admiral  in  a  thunder- 
storm'^ but  neither  without  a  punc- 
tual dischar<je  of  cannon  in  tlie 
back-ground :  a  Bishop,  of  course, 
in  the  gloom  of  a  Gothic  cathedral ; 
the  Lord  Mayor  in  the  Mansion^ 
House;  the  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Commons  in  that  theatre  of /«?(/- 
///"•//^eloquence;  Ladies  and  their 
linen,  in  obedience  to  the  proverb, 
by  candle-light:  so  that  you  see 
there  is  never  the  least  necessity 
for  the  painter  of  human  portraits 
to  represent  his  sitters  in  broad 
day-light,  or  out  at  grass,  as  tlie 
horse-painter  is  sometimes  com- 
pelled to  do.  And  after  all,  when 
driven  to  the  last  shift,  it  is  oh\f 
taking  a  poetical  licence,  and  then 
you  may  do  as  Jfon  please^  ^Atid 
defy  common  sense  and  all  tlio 
world.  You  may  bring  in  day-light 
at  one  window,  lind  eirhibit  blaih 


THE  KATURE   AND    USE    OP   DAY-LIGHT    IN    THE   PINE   ARTS. 


273 


riiirlu  out  at  another;  and  if  it  is 
not  directly  understood,  you  liuve 
oidy  to  whisper  to  a  friend,  that 

Alderman ,  whoever  it  may  be, 

is  placed  in  a  poetical  light:  and 
then  as  to  scenery,  a  drop  scene  of 
clouds,  let  down  from  the  top  to  the 
boitoni  of  the  picture,  settles  that 
at  once." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Vandyke,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the youn<;  ama- 
teur whose  remarks  had  occasioned 
all  this  discussion,  "  what  haVe  you 
to  say  to  this  poetical  light  that 
cpnfounds  again  NiGJiT  with  day, 
which  it  was  the  first  work  of  crea- 
tion to  separate  r" — "  I  confess,  sir, 
I  am  still  of  opinion,  that  the  elVect  j 
which  the  evening  Sun  and  a  purple 
Ski/  produce  upon  objects,  is  infi- 
nitely more  dt:lightful  and  affect- 
ing to  the   imagination,  than  any 
ariijicidl  vonihination  of  tints  which 
the  most  elegant  fancy  could  ar- 
range, or  the  most  fortunate  ho[)e 
to  discover  in  the  accidental  hlot- 
ti/igs  on  the  palette.     Nor  is  it  at  all 
lo.be  feared,  that  by  admitting  Day- 
light and  the  soft  reflection  of  the 
Sky   into   pictures,    the  apparent 
solidity  of  objects   would   be  de- 
stroyed :  the  very  reverse  would  be 
the   case;    every    thing  would   be 
rendered  so  much  the  more  dis- 
tinct and  substantial  by  it." — "  I 
deny    that,   sir,"    interrupted   the 
painter  of  my  very  flattering  por- 
trait ;  "  the  attempt  has  been  often 
made  by  a  clever  artist  of  our  own 
tl«^y>  who  used  to  let  in  the  Sky- 
light, in  all  sorts  of  directions,  «/?- 
wards  as   well    as  dounnards,  and 
lvi&  worlvs  were  noted  for  .wanting 
$plidiiy,  ^lie  soon,  however,  gave 
it  upj  and  agreed  with  me,  that  a 
line  tuust  somewhere  be  drawn  be- 
jvv;^een,4\rt.and  Nature ;  that  our  ap- 
f^'oLlViSo.  XL 


prenliceship  to  her  must  have  art 
end  ;  and  that,  having  gained  a  cer- 
tain proficiency,  we  must  set  up 
for  ourselves." — "  I  willingly  ad- 
mit it,  sir,"  replied  the  amateur, 
"  but  let  us  first  faithfully  and  ho- 
nestly attend  to  the  lessons  of  Na- 
ture, and  not  play  the  truant  with 
her.     I  remember  the  artist   you 
allude  to — whose  works  are  indeed 
replete  with  fine  taste  and  elegant 
invention, and  who  might  have  been 
a  splendid  ornament  to  his  country 
had  he  met  with  the  encouragement 
he  deserved: — I  remember  seeinsf 
him,  however,  when  I  was  a  boy,  - 
painting   the    beautiful    trees    in  , 
Kensington-Gardens  ;  and  though 
they  stood   before  his  eyes  in  all 
the  freshness  of  their  verdure,  he 
changed  them  in  his  painting  to  a 
hot  autumnal  brown.     Not  that  he 
was    insensible    to    their    natural 
beauty,  but  he  complained  that  the 
materials  of  his  art  were  inade- 
quate   to    its    representation.      I 
am  convinced,   however,    that   he 
thought  more  at  the  time  of  some 
splendid  artijice  in  the  pictures  of 
Rubens,  than  of  the  true  splendouf 
ofjthe  green  trees  glistening  in  the 
suji,  w  hose  golden  rays  chequered 
their    warm   velvet    shades,    and 
which  the  mild  reflection  of  the 
Sky  served  every  where  to  relieve 
and  heighten  by  its  contrast.  This 
is  the  true  Poetical  Light  in  which 
Nature,  that  great  and  original 
POETESS,  exhibits  to  us  the  object* 
of    her   inexhaustible    invention; 
and  it  involves,  to  a  certain   de- 
gree, the  union  of  night  and  day: 
it  gives  a  bright  and  a  dark  side 
to  all  things;  the  one  an  immedi- 
ate illumination  of  the  Sun,  the 
other  softened  by  the  milder  halo 
of  the  Sky,  which  is  but  a  reflection 
O  o 


274      THE    MATUllE   AND    USE    OF    DAY-LIGHT    IN   THE    FINE   ARTS. 


of  the  forraer — the  Diana  to  that 
Phcebiis.'" — "  All  this  is  very  fine," 
said  the  portrait- painter,  "  but  you 
are  bound  to  demonstrate  that  this  1 
NEW   LIGHT  will  not  fritter  away 
all  shadow,    and  with  it  all   sub-  ^ 
stance  too." — "  I  am  happy,  sir," 
he  replied,   "that  this  is  one  of; 
those     positions   which    admit   ofi 
demonstration.       Substances    are 
rendei'ed    visible,    and    we    know 
them  to  be  such  only  by  the  effect 
of  the   light   which   shines    upon 
them.     If  the  Sun's  ray  strike  the 
surface  of  a  body,  we  know  that 
there  is  a  surface  that  reflects  it  to  ^ 
our  sialit;  if  the  dark  side  of  this  ! 
body  receive   some  light  from   a 
neighbouring  object  on  which  the 
Sun  also  shines,  we  immediately 
perceive  the  svrl'ace  on  that  side; 
and  if  the  light  of  the  Sky  shine  , 
down  upon  all  bodies,  it  will  dis- 
tinguish to  us  their  upper  surfaces, 
though  not  illumined  by  the  sun, 
and  thus  determine  their  solidity 
in  that  direction.   The  ligb.tof  the 
Sky  has  besides  a  peculiar  quality, 
which  contribnt;^s  both  to  its  beau- 
ty and  utility:  being  in  its  colour 
strikingly  contrasted  to  that  of  the 
Sun,  it  can  never  be  mistaken  for 
it;  and,  therefore,  will  eff'ectually 
cure  that  flimsy  and  transparent 
appearance  so  frequently  seen  in 
pictures   whose   shadows    are  not 
absolutely   black:    for   an}'  other 
light  admitted  on  the  dark  side  of 
objects  is  liable  to  be  conceived  as 
coming  through  them  from  the  sun 
on  the  opposite  side.     It  is  thus 
that  Nature  paints  the  solid  objects 
of  sense,  and  thus  the  understand- 
ing has  learned  to  judge  of  their 
solidity ;  and  were  it  not  that  these 
every-day  appearances    are  little 
attended  to  by  the  world,  though 


but  for  them  no  man  could  safely 
visit  his  next  door  neighbour;  were 
the  gazers  at  pictures  conscious  of 
those  eff"ects  of  Light  which  guide 
them  intuitively  every  step  they 
take,  how  would  they  wonder  at 
the  fantastic  invention  of  the  in- 
door artist  who  attempts  to  amuse 
them  with  his  poetical  will-o'-the- 
zcisp?  Should  this  7ioiisensica I  DARK 
LANTERN  rise  to  light  the  world 
some  morning  instead  of  the  honest 
SUN,  I  fear  very  little  business 
would  be  done  upon  'Change  that 
day;  and  before  night,  unques- 
tionably, every  bone  in  all  our 
skins  would  be  broken." — "  Well, 
sir,"  said  the  immortalizer  of  my 
ugliness,  *'  the  landscape-painters 
may  possibly  thank  you  for  your 
idea;  they  are  accustomed  to  wan- 
der about  in  the  open  air,  and 
watch  the  effect  of  the  skies  ;  but 
the  higher  clepurtments  of  painting, 
PORTRAIT  and  HISTORY,  are  all  in- 
door zcork.  Your  perpendicular 
SKY-LIGHT  is  completely  shut  out 
there." — "  Then,  sir,"  he  replied, 
"I  would  advise  the  historical  paint- 
ers to  clmse  that  period  of  history 
when  mankind  was  all  inclosed  in 
Noah's  Ark(3.j,  for  it  seems  to 
me  quite  horrible  to  imagine  the 
WORLD  at  LARGE  all  ti/ed-iu  like  a 

GRAND  LODGE  OF  FREE-MASONS." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  sir,  I  shall 
not  ask  my  sitters  to  expose  them- 
selves to  the  cold  in  my  back  yard, 
in  order  that  the  day-light  niay 
shine  down  on  the  tops  of  their 
heads.  Nor  do  I  believe  thafe  the 
historical  painters  will  take  the 
paupers  from  the  work-house,  who 
usually  serve  as  the  models  of  their 
saints  and  apostles,  to  roast  them 
in  the  sun  in  the  gutters  on  the 
tops  of  their  liouses,  in  order  that 


THE    NATURE   AND    USE    OF    DAY-LIGHT    IN    THE    FINE    ARTS. 


275 


they  may  see  tlic  brilliant  con- 
trast of  the  golden  and  the  azure 
light  upon  their  bald  grey  heads." 
— "  Be  it  so  then,"  replied  the 
youth ;  "  let  the  landscape-paint- 
ers first  adopt  the  improAemcnt. 
They  have  already  done  much  for 
modern  art,  and  one  of  them,  in 
particular,  distinguishes  the  age 
by  the  sublimity  of  his  genius," 

*'  He  is  the  man,  then,"  said 
Teniers;  '•  but  if  he  is  already  so 
great,  and  perhaps  but  poorly  re- 
compensed, he  will  hardly  under- 
take the  labour  of  fresh  studies: 
yet,  if  you  think  there  is  any  hope, 
J  will  visit  him,  and  endeavour  to 
urge  him  to  one  noble  effort  more. 
JSuch  a  man  should  pause  for  a 
moment,  and  reflect,  that  it  is  still 
in  his  power  to  add  a  second  life, 
as  it  were,  to  his  glory,  by  com- 
mencing again,  and  7'evising  the 
energetic  studies  of  youth.  How 
rapidly  and  successfully  might  he 
run  over  this  course  !  Let  him  re- 
turn to'the  school  of  Nature,  and 
boldly  submit  to  her  strictest  ex- 
amination.  He  may  justly  appear 
before  her  with  the  confidence  of 
a  master,  but  let  him  be  careful  to 
unite  with  it  the  candour  and  sim- 
plicity that  adorn  her  children  ; 
the  only  sure  foundation  of  that 
confidence." 

r  "  A  visit  from  Teniers,"  he  re- 
plied.— "  No,  no,  there's  no  ne- 
cessity," interrujited  Cuyp;  '*  that's 
not  the  way." — "  Give  me  leave, 
gentlemen,  to  put  one  question  to 
you,"  said  I,  somewhat  hastily : 
*'  Seeing  that  even  in  the  other 
zcorld  there  are  differences  of  opi- 
nion— however,  here  we  seem  to 
be  in  both  worlds  at  once — permit 
me  to  ask  the  reason  of  the  ilivcr- 
sil  1/ oj'sti/ici{^.) ,  oi'yUs  they  are  term- 


ed, the  fl/lj'ereiit  rcni/s  of  seei/ig  71a • 
lure,  which  distinguish  the  most 
excellent  artists.  \\  hen  I  see  one 
paint  a  hrotcn  picture,  another  a 
(t;p?/,  this  a  ptirpie,  that  a  fieri/ 
oramre,  and  whole  ages  distinguish- 
ed by  the  black  masters  and  the 
WHITE,  I  own  the  Art  of  Painting 
puzzles  me  exceeding!}-.     Surely 

Nature " 

"  Sir,"  said  Cuyp,  "  if  you  had 
not  interrupted  me,  I  was  going 
to  point  out  a  method,  which,  if 
adopted,  might  throw  some  light 
upon  tliat  subject." — "  Give  me 
leave,"  said  Teniers,  "  to  make 
one  observation,  which  is  this,  that 
our  appearing  to  see  Nature  ilif- 
ferently,  may  partly  arise  from  our 
painting  so  much  uithont  looking 
at  her',  otherwise,  how  could  this 
PERPENDICULAR  SKY-LIGHT  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  painters 
till  now?  But  let  us  hear  your  pro- 
ject, Cuyp." — "  O,  sir,  I  am  in 
no  haste.  My  plan  is  this:  That 
THE  DIRECTORS  of  this  very  INSTI- 
TUTION should  form  a  COLLECTION 
of  genuine  studies  of  light  and  co- 
lour, taken  faithfully  from  Xature 
itself,  out  of  doors,  under  all  its  va- 
rious aspects ;  that  they  should 
offer  adequate  premiums  for  such 
studies,  and  every  year  select  a 
few  of  the  best  fron)  such  as  were 
presented  to  them.  They  would 
thus  form,  at  very  little  expense,  a 
mostvaluablescHOOLfor  the  study 
of  COLOURING,  in  zchirh  the  public, 
as  Zi'cll  as  the  artists,  viiglit  educate 
themselves  in  the  knowledge  of  Na- 
ture{5.).  And  let  me  ask  the  great 
Rubens,  if  he  does  not  think  this 
would  benefit  the  rising  artists 
mxich  more  than  continuing  to  ex- 
hibit the  works  o(  us  ancienfs,\\\uch, 
in  their  present  dirty  and  doctored 
O  o  2 


276 


THE    NATURE    AND    USE    OF    DAY-LIGHT    IN    THE    FINE   ARTS. 


condition,  I  own  I  am  not  a  little 
ashamed  of."  — "  Bravo,  Cuyp, 
bravo  !"  shouted  from  every  one 
in  the  room,  and  the  sound  had 
something  awful  in  it. — We  wfere 
all,  by  this  time,  involved  in  pro- 
found darkness,  and  I  began  to 
feel  a  shuddering  come  over  me. 
'inhere  was  a  dead  silence  for  about 
three  seconds,  wlien  Teniers  said 
very  gravely,  "  Rembrandt,  your 
friend  the  connoisseur  should  be 
here  7iow.  What  was  it  he  said 
about  the  mysterious  world,  which 
darkness  alone  illumines?  I  like 
that  fellow;  but  he  should  have 
caiTied  on  the  idea ;  he  should 
have  elaborated  this  system  of  in- 
verted  optics,  and  proceeded  to  di- 
vide the  unreal  beam  of  darkness 
visible  into  its  threefold  primitive 

negation;    and    so    on   to " — 

^'Gentlemen,''said  my  never-to-be- 
silenced  portrait-painter, "  though 
you  seem  to  think  you  have  settled 
the  point  in  dispute,  and  propose 
to  set  our  landscaperpainters  to 
work  to  establish  the  justice  of 
your  decision  by  the  prejudged 
evidence  and  authority  of  Nature, 
I  should  be  glad  to  know,  in  case 
you  succeed,  what  the  poor  por- 
trait-painters are  to  do  ?" — "  Nayj 
not  the  poor,'^  said  Vandyke,  tap- 
ping him  on  the  shoulder,  which 
i  thought  odd  enough  in  a  ghost; 
and  Cuyp,  who  observed  it  also, 
touched  Teniers  with  his  elbow, 
which  occasioned  a  "eneral  lauirh, 
and  the  poor  portrait -painter 
thought  it. was  at  him. — "Why, 
my  good  friend,"  said  the  lively 
Teniers,  "  why  should  this  new 
LIGHT  concern  you?  You  mav 
safely  depend  upon  the  ap^^thy  of 
the  CITY,  and  even  of  the  squares 
fit  the  west  end  of  the  town,  to  sub- 
jects of  this  nature;  and  proceed 


tS'^iiHhe  whole  court  of  aldermen 
into  your^?of//fo/  lanf,ern{Q.),  if  you 
think  proper.  Recollect,  for  your 
consolation,  that  there  are  no 
watchmen  hired  to  parade  the  streets 
in  the  day-time,  and  cry,  '  Past 
twelve  o'clock,  and — day -light  shines 
dozen  perpendicularly  r  uv«tj(ofe 

"  Discoveries  of  this  nature  are, 
in  the  first  instance,  difficult,  from 
their  being- wrapped  up,  as  it  were, 
in  their  own  simplicity;  a  cloak 
which,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of 
Tom  Payne,  is  just  of  the  right 
size  to  hide  itself.  But  when  such 
a  simple  discovery  is  once  made, 
and  the  Columbus  of  the  day  has 
fixed  his  egg  (7.)  upon  the  table, 
the  spectators,  surprised  to  see  it 
still  keep  its  perpendicular  direction, 
either  grin  or  frown,  as  they  hap- 
pen to  take  it,  like  the  Spaniards 
in  Hogarth's  print ; — and  there  the 
matter  ends.  Depend  upon  it,  if 
all  that  has  been  said  here  to-night 
were  printed  in  large  letters  in  xht 
Morning  Chronicle  to-movxmvf,  it 
would  not  have  the  smallest  eflfect 
upon  your  sitters  or  your  prices.^^ — 
"  That  I  would  engage  for,"  said 
I ;  "  for  I  myself,  in  that  verypaper^ 
so  long  ago  as  the  12th  of  March, 
1814,  attempted  to  disturb  the;) Wr 
losophic  torpor  of  the  age,  by  the 
alarming  assertion,  that  TIME  and 
space  (8),  which  have  puzzled  the 
philosophical  world  so  long,  are 
merely  THE  modes  of  our  sen- 
sitive faculty,  and  are  stamped 
by  us  upon  all  the  things  that  wia 
perceive.  I  maintained  further,  that 
this  position  is  so  self-evident,  that 
it  is  utterly  impossible  to  conceive  a 
sensitive  faculty  in  any  other  way; 
and  that  this  is  the  true  reason  why 
human  knowledge  is  restricted,  as 
we  find  it  to  be,  and  are.  indeed 
conscious  it  ever  must  be,  to  obt 


HISTORY    OF    LOUISA    LOVE  WORTH. 


277 


jects  in  time  and  space; — and  that 
all  beyond  those  bounds  is  wiin- 
teliiy^ible{Q.).  In  spite  of  the  un^ 
equivocal  boldness  of  this  asser- 
tion, and  the  extraordinary  and 
indisputable  fait  by  which  it  is  so 
powerfully  corroborated,  the p/iilo- 
iop/it/{lO.)  of  this  tndi/  Christian  ac^e 
received  this  civil  pat  on  the  cheek 
most  patiently,  and  on  that  side 
the  redness  still  remains:  it  seems 
to  me,  therefore,  a  useless  cruelty 
to  strike  it  on  the  other,  however 
fairly  it  may  be  presented  for  that 
purpose.  And  give  me  leave  to 
ask  of  the  great  artists  of  past 
times — who  are  here  present--\vhat 
is  the  chief  advantage  they  expect 
to  result  from  the  introduction  of 
this  neiclif  discovered  day-liglit  into 
the  pictures  of  the  moderns,  and 
what  tli,ey  conceive  to  be  the  chief 
merit  of  this  discovery  r" — "  Sir," 
said  Rembrandt,  "  the  merit  of  this, 
as  of  all  other  discoveries,  is  its 
originality ;  and  one  great  advan- 
tage which  it  j)romises,  in  addition 
to  every  other,  is  this :  \tmaij  open 
the  eyes  of  those  who  exert  them- 
selves to  promote  the  Arts,  to  the 
necessity  of  a  bold  and  direct  appeal 
to  Nature  itself,  if  any  thing  really 
great  is  to  be  effected.  It  is  possi- 
ble, that  when  the  in-door  gloom 
of  our  OLD  PICTURES  comes  to  be 
explained,  the  world  may  begin 
to  commiserate  the  Arts  under  their 


long  and  dark  imprisonment,  and 
set  free  the  genius  of  the  iige  from 
the  restraints  of  AFi  ectation  and 
prejudice;  those  two  ponderous 
bars,  which  the  Connoisneurs,  the 
turnkeys  of  the  dungeon,  will,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  some  day  or  other 
quietly  suffer  to  be  removed. 

"  The  mnnifeat  discovery  of  this 
great  dejiciency  in  OUR  WORKS  ought 
to  prevent  your  continuing  indo' 
lent  I  y  and  b/ind/y  to  follow  our 
steps,  as  zve  have  blindly  and  indo- 
lently followed,  ///  this  re^^jiect  at 
least,  those  who  went  before  us. 
Such  ought  to  be  the  result  of  this 
discovery ;  it  should  encourage 
artists  to  dare  to  look  at  Mature; 
and  it  should  teach  the  true  lovers 
of  art  to  require  it  of  them,  to  aid 
their  first  feeble  and  hazardous 
efforts,  and  to  protect  even  their 
failure  horn  x.\\e  premature  triumph 
of  that  fiend,  who  watches  the  first 
shoots  of  vegetation  in  every  little 
earthly  })arailisc,  to  trample  them 
beneath  his  feet.  But,  sir,  if  you 
ask  whether  I  am  ver\-  sanguine 
on  this  subject,  certainly  I  am  not. 
It  will  all  c(^me  about  in  time; — 
but  before  that  happens,  I  hope  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  all  the 
present  conijjan}'  in  '  another  and 
a  better  place.'  " 

At  this  the  living  and  the  dead 
bowed  respectfully  to  each  other; 
vanished  and  departed.       Judex. 


HISTORY  OF  LOUISA   LOVEW  ORTH. 

Mr.  Editor,  j  sir,  most  unjustly  branded  with  the 

In  the  hope  that  the  age  !  imputation  of  coquetry,  folly,  and 
of  chivalry  is  not  quite  gone  by,  ||  stupidity,  for  no  other  reasons  than 
and  that  you  possess  gallantry  '  because  I  am  very  pretty,  very 
enough  to  come  to  the  relief  of  a  jj  rich,  and  possessed  of  a  mo  lerate 
distressed  damsel,  I  solicit  vour  I  share  of  common  sense:  I  think 
assistance.     I  am,  you  nmst  know,  |  I  hear  you  exclaim,  "  and  quantum 


278 


HISTORY    OF    LOUISA  LOVEWORTH. 


sufficit  of  vanity-  into  the  bargain !" 
Softl3%  sage  sir;  if  you  are  the 
man  of  sense  I  take  you  for,  I  shall, 
by  a  plain  statement  of  facts,  con- 
vince you  of  your  mistake. 

I  was  the  only  child  and  am  the 
heiress  of  very  worthy  parents. 
From  my  infancy  I  gave  promise 
of  possessing  an  uncommon  share 
of  beauty,  which,  as  I  was  natural- 
ly volatile  and  thoughtless,  might 
have  been  a  serious  misfortune  to 
me,  but  for  the  care  of  my  excel- 
lent mother,  who  never  endea- 
voured to  conceal  from  me  that  I 
was  handsome,  but  at  the  same 
time  so  judiciously  represented  to 
me  the  perishable  nature  of  a  gift, 
which  l)y  gaining  me  more  notice 
than  would  otherwise  be  bestowed 
upon  me,  would  render  my  men- 
tal defects  more  glaring,  and  would 
iiever  extenuate  them  in  the  eyes 
of  the  wise  and  the  good,  that  I 
grew  up,  tlianks  to  her  sensible 
precepts,  more  solicitous  for  the 
esteem  of  the  few,  than  the  admi- 
ration of  the  many. 
,  With  regard  to  the  proper  use 
of  riches,  my  mother  had  no  oc- 
casion to  give  me  any  advice,  as 
her  whole  life  was  a  practical  il- 
lustration of  how  they  ought  to  be 
spent.  She  lost  my  father  while 
I  was  yet  an  infant,  and  she  re- 
gretted him  too  tenderly  ever  to 
enter  into  a. second  marriage:  but 
though  in  a  great  measure  dead 
to  the  joys  of  life,  yet  she  conti- 
nued, for  my  sake,  to  mix  with 
the  world;  and  I  had  an  early  op- 
portunit}'  of  seeing,  that,  by  ju- 
dieious  management,  it  is  possible 
to  >-atisfy,  out  of  a  large  income, 
all  the  claims  which  society  has 
upon  us,  and  yet  reserve  a  sum  for 
the  relief  of  our  distressed  fellow- 


creatures,  the  amount  of  w'hich 
would  not  be  credited  by  the  vo- 
taries of  folly  and  fashion.  Nor 
was  my  mother  forgetful  of  the 
claims  which  genius,  too  often  des- 
tined to  struggle  with  poverty,  has 
upon  the  possessors  of  affluence; 
she  took  care  that  my  education 
should  enable  me  justly  to  appre- 
ciate those  claims,  and  her  exam- 
ple sufficiently  pointed  out  to  me 
how  they  ought  to  be  rewarded. 
But  I  perceive  that  I  grow  very 
serious,  or  perhaps  I  ought  to  say, 
very  dull;  so,  without  farther  di- 
gression, I  shall  proceed  to  the 
cause  of  my  present  perplexities. 

By  the  death  of  this  exemplary 
parent,  which  happened  before  I 
reached  my  eighteenth  year,  I  was 
placed  under  tlie  guardianship  of 
my  father's  aunt.  Lady  Dashmore; 
and  as  soon  as  my  grief  had  so  far 
subsided  as  to  enable  me  to  mix 
with  the  brilliant  circle  in  which 
her  ladyship  moved,  I  attracted 
the  regards  of  Sir  George  Glitter. 
I  will  not  deny  that  the  fine  person, 
insinuating  manners,  and  appa- 
rently open  and  amiable  temper 
of  the  baronet,  made  a  sensible 
impression  upon  my  heart;  and  as 
1  was  not  then  quite  nineteen,  I 
hope  I  may  be  pardoned,  if  my 
imagination  bestowed  upon  him 
every  virtue  as  well  as  every  grace. 
I  was  not,  however,  so  far  gone  ia 
la  belle  passion  as  to  entangle  my- 
self in  any  engagement;  all  the 
baronet  could  obtain  was  permis-f 
sion  to  visit  me  as  a  friend,  and 
I  determined  thoroughly  to  inves- 
tigate his  character  and  disposition 
before  I  discovered  the  partiality 
with  which  he  had  inspired  me. 

For  some  time  all  went  well, 
I  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  witk 


HISTOnV    OF    LOUISA    LOVRWORTH. 


279 


his  behaviour,  and  as  lie  was  very 
youni;  aiul  I  heard  iiothiii;^  unfa- 
vourable of"  iiitu,  I  persuaded  my- 
self that  a  few  years  would  correct 
the  exuberant  vivacity  of  hi ;  tem- 
per, and  render  him  all  I  wished. 
I  will  not  detail  to  you,  sir,  the 
progress  of  my  disappointnient ; 
sutiice  it  to  say,  that  a  few  months 
which  Sir  George  spent  with  us  in 
the  country,  proved  to  me  that  he 
was  a  cold,  heartless  being,  on 
whom  the  distresses  of  others  made 
not  the  smallest  impression.  He 
relieved  the  wants  of  the  poor,  it 
is  true,  principally  I  believe  be- 
cause he  saw  that  I  was  hurt  at  his 
not  doingso  in  oneor  two  instances; 
but  the  ostentation  v.hich  accom- 
panied liis  gifts  destroyed  their 
value  in  my  eyes,  and  cruelly  hurt 
the  feelings  of  those  whose  neces- 
sities obliged  them  to  accept  his 
bounty.  There  were  also  two  other 
traits  in  his  temper,  which  retire- 
ment brought  forth,  that  must,  had 
we  been  united,  have  marred  our 
happiness:  he  had  a  passion  for 
high  play,  and  a  decided  dislike 
to  literary  pursuits.  It  was  not, 
however,  in  a  moment  that  a  cha- 
racter so  comj)letely  the  reverse  of 
what  I  had  hoped  to  hnd  it,  unfold- 
ed itself,  but  as  soon  as  it  di  1,  I 
gave  the  baronet  a  formal  dismis- 
sal: he  refused,  however,  though 
with  an  appearance  of  the  greatest 
humility,  to  resign  the  hope  of  in- 
ducing me  one  day  or  other  to  fa- 
vour his  pretensions ;  and  my  aunt, 
who  was  very  partial  to  him,  plead- 
ed his  cause  most  streniiously.  I 
persisted,  however,  in  my  reso- 
lution, and  avoided  him  from 
that  time  by  every  means  in  my 
power. 

I  was  soon  afterwards  introduc- 


ed to  a  young  gentleman  whom  my 
brilliant  aunt  and  most  of  her  cir- 
cle pronounced  a  bore.  Mr.  Pro- 
bit,  so  he  was  named,  had  nothings 
very  striking  either  in  his  person 
or  manners:  he  was  grave  and  ra- 
ther taciturn,  but  I  observed  that 
wlicnever  he  did  sjjcak,  it  was  al- 
ways to  the  purpose.  As  he  had 
been  a  ward  of  the  late  Lord  Dash- 
more's,  he  visited  Lady  Dashmore 
very  frequently,  and  after  some 
time  I  discovered  that  he  possessed 
much  literary  and  scientific  know- 
ledge, which  he  communicated  in 
a  manner  so  pleasing  and  unaffect- 
ed, that  his  conversation  became 
a  grreat  treat  to  me,  till  a  circum- 
stance  occurred  which  damped  the 
pleasure  I  took  in  his  company, 
because  it  induced  me  to  think 
him  avaricious,  a  vice  which  of  all 
others  I  detest.  A  beautiful  joung 
countess,  remarkable  for  the  ge- 
nerosity of  her  temper,  produced 
one  evening  at  my  aunt's  a  petition 
from  a  poor  family  in  the  most  ab- 
ject state  of  distress,  for  whom  she 
solicited  subscriptions :  every  body 
give  something,  and  the  lovely 
pleader  was  just  putting  up  the 
moncv  she  had  collected,  when 
Mr.  Probit  entered;  the  countess 
immediately  applied  to  him,  but, 
to  my  surprise,  and  indeed  that 
of  the  whole  company,  he  refused 
to  contribute  to  their  relief,  nor 
could  all  the  bewitching  oratory 
of  her  ladyship  draw  even  a  trifle 
from  his  purse. 

Vexed  even  more  than  I  cared 
to  own  to  myself  at  his  conduct,  1 
could  with  difficulty  behave  to  him 
in  my  usual  manner  for  the  rest  of 
the  evcninsr,  and  I  accused  him  in 
my  own  mind  of  being  even  more 
deficient  in  humanity  tiian  the  gay 


280 


HISTORY    OF   LOUISA   LOVEWORTHj 


n  awr 


Sir  George.  The  following  day  I 
visited  the  poor  family,  whose  di- 
rection the  countess  had  given  me, 
and  I  found  that  their  distress  had 
not  been  exaggerated:  but  for  the 
benevolent  interference  of  her  la- 
dyship, the  poor  man  would  have 
been  dragged  to  a  prison.  I  found 
tliatthesum  collected,  with  a  hand- 
some addition  made  to  it  by  the 
countess,  was  barely  sufficient  to  1 
pay  an  inexorable  creditor;  but 
the  woman  told  me,  that  a  gentle- 
man had  visited  them  early  in  the 
morning,  given  them  some  money 
to  supply  their  immediate  wants, 
and  promised  to  procure  employ- 
ment for  her  husband  as  soon  as 
his  health,  for  he  was  then  very 
ill,  was  restored.  I  inquired  the 
name  of  this  benevolent  being,  but 
she  assured  me  she  was  herself  a 
stranger  to  it.  Some  time  passed 
away,  I  frequently  called  to  see 
how  they  went  on,  and  I  found  the 
benevolent  stranger  still  continued 
his  attentions  to  them,  but  I  never 
met  him  in  my  visits.  One  morn- 
ing, however,  I  called  some  hours 
before  my  usual  time,  and  on  en- 
tering the  house  where  they  lodged, 
1  saw  Mr.  Probit  ascending  the 
staircase.  In  a  moment  the  truth 
flashed  upon  me;  he  did  not  per- 
ceive me,  and  I  waited  till  he  had 
entered  their  apartment  before  I 
followed  him.  Never  before,  Mr. 
Editor,  had  I  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  what  a  beautifier  of  the  hu- 
man countenance  benevolence  is. 
1  had  always  thought  Mr.  Probit 
rather  plain,  but  when  I  looked  at 
him  as  he  talked  to  the  sick  man, 
while  one  of  the  children  who  had 
nestled  close  to  his  side  was  placed 
upon  his  knee,  and  another  re- 
ceived a  book,  the  promised  re- 
ward of  his  having  learued  the  task 


assigned  him,  I  wondered  that  I 
had  never  before  been  struck  with 
the  charming  expression  of  his 
countenance.  I  could  not  help 
inquiring  afterwards  why  he  had 
so  resolutely  withstood  the  entrea- 
ties of  the  countess  to  relieve  the 
poor  family  for  whom  he  had  se- 
cretly done  so  much ;  and  I  think, 
Mr.  Editor,  his  answer  will  raise 
him  in  your  estimation  as  it  has 
done  in  mine.  "  The  benevolence 
of  the  countess,"  said  he,  *'  is  so 
well  known,  that  it  renders  her 
exceedingly  liable  to  imposition; 
I  am  aware  that  in  several  instances, 
her  humanity  has  been  abused,  and 
this  most  prohably  always  will  be 
the  case,  because  in  giving  she 
consults  her  heart  rather  than  her 
judgment:  now  as  you  know,  my 
dear  madam,  I  have  but  little  to 
give,  I  should,  in  my  own  opinion 
at  least,  be  unpardonably  negli- 
gent of  what  I  consider  a  sacred 
duty,  if  I  did  not  see  that  little 
worthily  bestowed." 

From  that  time  Mr.  Probit  and 
myself  were  good  friends,  and  I 
could  not  help  often  thinking,  that 
he  was  the  man  of  all  others  whom 
my  beloved  mother,  were  she  li- 
ving, would  have  selected  for  my 
husband  ;  but  so  guarded  was  his 
conduct,  that  I  could  not  discover 
whether  I  had  made  any  serious 
impression  on  his  heart.  In  this 
state  of  uncertainty  I  continued 
for  more  than  a  year,  and  possessed 
as  1  was  of  beauty  and  fortune, 
you  will  not  wonder  that  I  had  ma- 
ny admirers  and  not  a  few  propo- 
sals; but  I  repulsed  the  first,  and 
rejected  the  last,  wliich  gave  Sir 
George  Glitter  an  opportunity,  as 
I  have  since  been  informed,  of 
declarino;  that  he  was  certain  of 
being  the  happy  man  at  last. 


THE  STORY  OF  ESUPH,  Oil  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  BORN  TQO  LATE.   281 


Am  accident  which  endangered 
my  life  revealed  to  me  at  last  tiiat 
the  supposed  indidercnce  of  Mr. 
frobit  proceeded  from  a  scrupu- 
lous sense  of  honour,  and  the  ice 
once  broken,  we  soon  came  to  an 
eciaircissement,  which  ended  in  my 
conscntinj^to  receive  his  addresses; 
much  to  the  displeasure  of  Lady 
Dashmore,  to  whom  and  her  "  dear 
five  hundred  friends"  my  conduct 
atVords  an  inexhaustible  theme  for 
censure  and  commenti  I  am  for- 
mally accused  of  havin;^  jilted  Sir 
George,  who  every  body  says  would 
have  been  an  unexceptionable 
match  for  me,  and  of  rejectingevery 


a  firm  member  of  the  established 
church ;  and  as  to  the  second,  I 
can  with  truth  declare,  that  far 
from  affecting  singularity,  I  have 
all  my  life  studied  to  avoid  it.  The 
party  who  tlirow  the  blame  on  luy 
education,  are,  I  believe,  nearest 
to  the  truth,  and  as  they  chieHy 
consist  of  managing  mammas,  I. 
can  only  thank  them  for  the  kind 
pit}'  I  am  informed  they  bestow  up- 
on me;  and  hope  that  their  well- 
educated  daughters,  who  are  so  se- 
dulously taught  to  stifle  their  na- 
tural feelings,  and  sacrifice  their 
fondest  wishes  at  the  shrine  of  mer- 
cenary Hymen,  may  never  rt  pent 


other  suitable  offer,    in    order    to ';  having  received  an  education  which 
throw  myself  away   upon    a    man  ;:  has  taught  them  to  value  so  Isighly 


whose  birth,  fortune,  and  connec- 
tions are  all   beneat!)  me. 

Some  ladies  attril:)uteil   my  con- 
duct to  mv  having  imbibed  IMctho- 


the  things  of  this  world. 

Now,  Mr.  Editor,  having  con- 
cluded uiy  plain,  unvarnished  tale, 
I  hope  you  will  agree  with  me  in 


distical  opinions;  otliers  affect  to  j  opinion,  that  it  is  a  sufficient  apo- 
snppose,  that  it  sj)rings  entirely  •  logy  for  an  heiress  of  twelve  thou- 
from  a  desire  to  a|)pear  as  unlike  i  sand  a  year  bestowing  her  hand 
as  possil)le  to  other  peoj)ie;  and  a   ;  upon  a  man  with  an  income  of  noc 


third  class,  at  the  head  of  which  is 
my  aunt,  kindly  throw  the  whole 


twice   as  many  hundreds  ;    and    if 
this  should  be  the  case,  you  will, 


blame  on  the  absurd  education   I  i  by  giving  my  letter  a  place  in  your 
have  received.  •  t;il  1|, truly  moral   and  elegant  publica- 

Now,    Mr.    Editor,    in    reply  to  j  tion,  oblige  your  constant  reader 
the  first  of  these  charitable  asser-  ,  and  very  humble  servant, 
tions,  1  beg  leave  to  say,  that  I  am 
both,  from  principle  and  education. 


Louisa  Lovkworth. 


<n\  Hi 


THE  STORY  OF  ESUPH,   OR  ,XHlt:„M^^Jjr^.JV,liO  WAS  BOR4N 

T09,LAlrr^,-^^^.^|,^^,^, 

Among  all  the  complaints  vent-  Ij  age  necessarily  became  wiser  and 
ed    by  irascibility,   perhaps   none  j  wiser,    promiiied    themselves    that 


are^so  well  founded  and  irremedi- 


thcir  offspring  must   be   hapj^ier 


able    as   mine.      I    suffer    bitterly  j  than    they    Avere,    because    their 


every  day  from  a  epus^  of  which  I 
tiariiv  tbi^i  rki>t»v?|Q/2n|  ,vifl|ioi,  ,and  for 
;  which  I(.caiin^t,evci^  l^lame  my  pa- 
■*a-ej}tSjiwhQ)fc;i»Wi5''^>iii]S  that  ever^; 


childr^'O  ,ha^   the  opportunity  of 
addiugc^l^   experience   of   their 
parentis  to  their  own  observation. 
^.  Y?Ty.  .long  before  I  had  arrived 


f'^oLJhMsrJ^fy^    . 


2iii.i  ^  ^'- 


ZOZ    THE  STORY  OF  ESUPII^  OR  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  BORN  TOO  LATE. 


at  the  age  of  maiiliood  my  evil 
stars  began  to  shed  their  influence, 
and  ere  I  liad  entered  my  teens,  1 
began  to  find  myself — yes,  Mr. 
Editor,  I  began  to  find  mysc-lf — 
suffering  under  all  the  sin  and  ig 
nominy  of  coming  into  the  world 
at  a  period  when  there  was  an  end 
to  all  intellectual  and  moral  im- 
provement. Indeed,  my  very  in- 
fant days  passed  in  making  this 
discovery,  and  1  became  enlight- 
ened through  the  medium  of  the 
most  hackneyed  truisms.  Children, 
I  have  heard  my  mother  say,  chil- 
dren were  nozc-a-days  such  plagues 
there  was  no  doing  any  thing  with 
them.  ^\'hen  she  was  a  child,  she 
and  her  brothers  were  seen  with- 
out being  heard  ;  but  her  hopeful 
babes  Wv  re  much  more  heard  than 
seen.  I,  who  was  even  much  old- 
er than  my  years,  was  taught  to 
behold  with  horror  the  increasino^ 
depravity  of  the  rising  generation, 
and  made  to  believe,  that,  in  spite 
of  the  theory  of  pretended  sages, 
we  are  only  treading  the  retro- 
grade path  of  improvement.  I  read 
of  so  many  better  boys  and  girls 
in  books  printed  by  Messrs.  Mar- 
.shall,  of  Alderm.anbury  church- 
yard, at  a  time  when  these  books 
were  elegantly  bound  and  gilt, 
which  was  long  before  juvenile 
libraries  were  established;  and  I 
found  in  The  I'Ulage  School,  The 
Adventures  of  a  Mou.se,  a.nd  The Lrfe 
(>f  Goody  Tixo  Shoes,  such  instances 
of  virtue  and  precocity  of  talent, 
that  I  begai;  to  consider  my  mam- 
ma perfectly  right  in  her  de- 
ductions; but  the  depraved  life 
of  Master  Tommy  iiickathrift 
somewhat  staggered  me  in  my 
opinion.  One  day,  however,  she 
opened  my  eyes,  and  told  me  that 


all  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  by  re- 
lating some  of  the  childish  pranks 
of  her  brother,   and,    among  the 
rest,   how  he    had  been    naughty 
one  day,  and  as  how,  he  being  shut 
up  in  a  bed-room,  amused  himself 
with    cuttino'    out    the    alternate 
squares  of  a  red  and  white  che- 
I  quered  bed-curtain,   in   order,  as 
he  said,  to  make  windows.     I  re- 
member  I    chuckled    heartily   at 
!  this ;  but  I  was  soon  stopped,  by 
I  being  told  that  this  mischief  had 
I  some  method  in  it,  and  that  the 
'  window  experiment  was  the  action 
I  of  no  common  boy;  while  my  de- 
i  pravity  of  yesterday,  to  which  this 
was  set  in  opposition,  was  horrible 
;  indeed.     The    dreadful    crime    I 
i  had  been  guilty  of  was  this  :  En- 
;  gaged    in  play  with   Miss   Sukey 
Jenkins,    a   30ung    friend    of  my 
,  sister's,   we    contrived  'to    unlock 
I  a  door  to  a  room  which    was  in- 
tended  for  a   new   drawing-room 
by  my  mamma,  and  here  the  fur- 
niture was  placed  previously  to  its 
arrangement.     Wh.at  a  galaxy  of 
gold  struck  our  astonished  sight  ! 
Tables  were  piled  on  chairs,  and 
chairs  on  sofas  ;  but  the  discovery 
•made  by  Miss  Sukey,  a  girl  of  a 
keen  eye,  was  truly  ravishing:  flat 
on    the    ground    lay    an    immense 
I  looking-glass, clearly  reflecting  the 
whole  lieight  of  the  room.     811  key 
liad  often  been  with  her  mannna  to 
I  the  bath;  "  How  like  it  tlie  glass 
j  looked  !  Suppose  we  were  to  batlje?" 
Delightful,  ravisliing  thought !  All 
was  prepared;   a  chair  was  pla'c^a, 
from  which  my  little  Musidora  was 
to  plunge;  but  I  fearing  the  gelid 
wave    miirht  be    too   coid    for  her 
frame,  thought  to  try  it  first.  Alas  ! 
the  mystery  of  Ovid's  wand  waved 
over  me.    No  wave  claspeU'usj  but 


THE  STORY  OF  ESUPH,  OR  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS  HORN  TOO  LATE.  283 


mamma's  glass  stopped  my  pro- 
gress; uiuler  my  feet  its  diverging 
cracks  shewed  themselves  a  thou- 
sand ways.  The  dreadful  crash 
spared  our  tale.  Mamma  entered 
the  room,  once  more  convinced  tliat 
the  evil  mind  of  man  grows  with 
every  age,  and  that  none  but  a  brat 
of  178b  could  be  guilty  of  the  de- 
pravity which  shocked  her  sight. 

At  an  age  in  which  intellect  be- 
gins to  exjjand,  my  education  was 
well  attended  to;  but  I  found,  in 
spite  of  all  my  assiduity,  and  the 


he  informed  at  common-halls  and 
conventicles,  that  1  lived  in  a  city 
to  which  Nineveh  herself  was  holy, 
and  that  even  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
would  arise  in  judgment  against 
the  town  in  which  I  was  doomed  to 
vegetate.  What  tlien  does  such  a 
wretch  as  I  am  in  this  breathing 
world,  I  know  not.  I  expect  to 
follow  my  doom,  and  behold  the 
degeneracy  of  my  countr}'.  How 
can  I  perform  my  religious  duties, 
who  have  never  heard  a  Tillotson, 
a  Beveridge,  or  a  Berkeley  !  how 


numerous  elementary  books  which  !  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  imitative 


constantly  issued  from  the  press 
for  my  use,  that  I  was  not  so  for- 
ward in  my  learning  as  my  father 
had  been  at  the  same  age;  al- 
though he  confessed,  that  he  had 
scarcely  begun  to  read  when  I  had 
been  through  my  Latin  grammar. 
If,  however,  he  admitted  that  I 
knew  more,  he  said  it  was  less  solid 
than  the  knowledge  he  gained  ;  and 
in  every  effort  I  made  towards  im- 
provement, he  forced  me  to  draw 
the  following  deductions: — That 
the  more  literature  was  encourag- 
ed, the  quicker  did  human  nature 
return  to  a  state  of  ignorance  ;  and 
that  having  been  for  the  last  cen- 
tury arriving  at  a  state  of  human 
perfection,  we  must  now  necessa- 
rily descend,  in  an  equal  ratio, 
down  the  vale  of  ignorance. 

*'  Unhap|iy  child  of  an  unpro- 
piiious  era!"  I  exclaimed:  "al- 
though no  Bolingbroke  writes  to 
shake  your  religitjus  faith ;  no 
American  war  impoverishes  vour 
country  ;  no  tobacco  bills  or  revo- 
lutions di;>turb  your  repose,  vei  are 
you  the  victim  of  a  thousand  evils!" 
And  even  though  Bonaparte  was 
once  more  prevented  from  inva- 
dipg  my  uative  shqre,  ^till  was  1  to 


arts,  who  exist  when  Kneller,  Lely, 
anil  Rubens  are  no  more  !  I  who 
have  heard  of  the  superior  excel- 
lence of  Barry,  Garrick,  ^\'ood- 
ward,  or  Pritchard,  can  I  tamely 
sit  to  hear  an  O'Neil,  a  Kean,  a 
Kemble,  oraSiddons?  The  merits 
of  a  Knight,  a  Dowton,  and  a  Lis- 
ton,  are  forgotten  in  my  father's 
details  of  a  Woodward  and  a  8hu- 
ter.  I  find  this  to  be  impossible; 
and  I  dwell  on  the  full-bottomed 
wig  of  Quin's  Cato,  and  of  Gar- 
rick's  Macbeth  and  Othello  in  a 
full  -  dress  suit  of  bag-wig  and 
sword,  with  English  regimentals, 
as  the  most  unnatural,  of  course  the 
most  sublime  essence  of  wit  ima- 
ginable. The  applause  we  give  to 
a  Wellington,  I  find  is  due  onl}-  to 
the  achievements  of  a  Marlborousli 
or  a  Cumberland;  and  our  petty 
cavils  at  the  measures  of  ministers 
must  bow  before  the  invectives  of 
a  Home,  a  Junius,  or  a  Henley. 
Fain  would  I  take  up  my  pen,  and 
ttll  my  brethren  how  ihey  are  de- 
generated ;  but,  alas!  Milton  and 
Shakspeare  have  lived  before  me, 
and  inform  me  how  useless  is  my 
exertion.  Swift  has  hurled  his  in- 
vectives, and  Butler  lashed  with 
Pp  2 


284 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


his  ridicule.  I  have  lived  to  be 
amused  only  with  the  idle  attempts 
of  people  to  become  wiser  than  our 
ancestors.  I  smile  at  your  Insti- 
tutions for  gaining  Knowledge; 
your  Societies  for  the  Encourage- 
ment of  Arts,  Manufactures,  and 
Commerce;  your  Royal  Acade- 
iiiies;  and  your  exertions  for  pro- 
moting Morality  and  Religion. 
Wives  are  so  bad  now-a-days,  that 
I  have  not  ventured  to  take  one 
of  tliese  harpies,  though  I  have 
often  thought  they  dressed  almost 
as  decently  as  the  aunt  Debs  and 
ilie  grandmanmias  hanging  round 
Ime;  yet  where  shall  I  find  one 
'-'who  would  work  me  such  mohair 
•  chair-seats  as  that  on  which  I  am 
sitting,  or  draw  me  pictures  equal 
to  those  non-entities  which  my 
mamma  cut  out  with  her  scissars  ? 


who,  like  her,  never  shew  their  ig- 
norance b}-  opening  their  mouths: 
or  who  iiow  will  come  to  our  arms, 
the  best  of  all  possible  compa- 
nions, from  Mrs,  Glasse's  Cook- 
ery, The  Housekeeper^ s  yJssistant^ 
Nelson's  Fasfs  and  Festivals,  The 
Hemaitis  of  Betsi/  Thoughtless,  The 
Lives  of  Jemmij  and  Jenny  Jessamy^ 
or  Mrs.  Rowe's  Letters?' 

Servants  are  nothing  to  what 
they  were  in  my  mother's  time. 
Peaches  and  nectarines  have  not 
the  flavour  they  used  to  have.  The 
sun  does  not  shine  as  in  Queen 
Anne's  days;  the  seasons  are  chang- 
ed, and  every  thing,  and  every  day, 
informs  me  of  my  misfortunes ; 
while  crows,  choughs,  and  jack- 
daws scream  out  as  1  approach — 
Here  comes  the  man  who  was  boru 
too  late ! 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER, 

No.  XI. 

The  feather'd  luisbanc],  to  liis  partner  true. 
Preserves  connubial  rites  inviolaie. 
With  cold  indifference  every  cliann  lie  sees, 
The  milky  whiteness  of  the  stately  neck, 
The  shining-  down,  proud  crest,  and  purple  wings  : 
But  cnutiou«,  with  a  searching  eye  explores 
The  female  in  lies  his  proper  naate  to  find. 
With  kindred  colours  inark''d  :   did  he  not  so, 
The  groves  with  painted  monsters  would  abound, 
Th'ambignoiis  piouuct  of  unnatural  love. 
Tlie  biarkbird  lienie  selects  her  sooty  s|iuuse; 
The  nis;htin:;ale  her  musical  com|)eer, 
Lur'd  by  the  well-known  voice;    the  bird  of  night, 
.Smit  with  hi'r  dusky  wings  and  blinking  eyes, 
\1ooes  his  dun  paramour.     The  beanteu\is  race 
.Speak  the  chaste  love  of  their  pro2;e"itors, 
V\  hen,  by  the  sprin;;  invited,  they  exult 
In  wood*  ami  fields,  and  to  the  sun  unfold 
Their  plumes,  that  with  paternal  ccdours  glow. 


ff^iDOS 


>■  To  possess  the  same  preferences, 
and  the  same  aversions,  is  the  defi- 
nition of  friendship  by  a  celebrated 
writer  of  antiquity:  and  why  may 
it  not  be  applied  to  loye,  if  friend- 
ship uith  woman  is  its  sister,  as  the 
song  declai'es?  and  songs,  though 
|hey  too  often   deal  in  nonsense, 


are  sometimes  known  to  enforce 
the  most  pleasing  sentiments,  and, 
with  an  elegant  gaiety,  to  enliven 
proverbial  truths.  Equality  in 
rank  and  fortune,  equality  in  views 
and  wishes,  and  equality  in  tem- 
per, in  those  who  form  the  hyme- 
neal union,  afford  the  most  certain. 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


i^65 


because   it    is    the    most    rational, 
prospector  matrimonial  happiness,  j 

It  is  a  rule  which  ought  to  be  I 
observed  in  all  occurrences  of  life,  ' 
but  particuhuly  in  the  domestic  or 
married    part  of  it,    to  encourage 
and  preserve  a  disposition  to  please 
and    be   pleased.     That,   however,  j 
cannot  he  supported,  hut  by  con- 
sidering- thin;^s  in  a  right  point  of  | 
view,    and   as   Nature   has   formed  j 
ttiem,   and   not  as   our  fancies   or  ! 
passions  would  have  iheiu. 

There  is  an  exclamation  of  a 
husband  in  one  of  the  comedies  of  ; 
Terence,  which  I  have  read  in  a 
translati<jn  of  ihoseadmirable  plays 
(for  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand 
Latin),  which  has  always  pleased 
ine  for  the  warmth  of  his  alTeciion, 
the  forcible  promise  of  his  fidelity, 
and  the  certainty  of  his  happiness  ; 
but  he  does  not  rest  his  love  upon 
ihe  beauty  of  her  person,  the  ele- 
gance of  her  manner,  her  grace, 
lier  wit,  or  her  siiperior  nnder- 
standin<r  and  admirable  accom- 
plishments,  but  because  their  tem- 
pera are  the  .-ame,  and  their  humours 
agree. 

I  need  not  observe  what  is  so 
well  known  to  all,  that  a  choice  in 
marriage  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant considerations  in  the  jiro- 
gressof  our  existence.  This  state 
is  the  foundation  and  chief  hand  of 
social  life:  nor  can  I  address  my 
unmarried  readers  on  a  subject 
which  IS  so  essential  to  their  hap- 
piness. A  virtuous  disposition,  a 
good  understanding,  an  agreeahle 
person,  and  an  easy  fortune,  are 
objects  that,  as  far  as  circumstances 
will  allow,  should  be  chiefly  re- 
garded in  forming  the  hymeneal 
union.  But  as  it  may  not  be  in  the 
power  of  all  my  female  readers  to 


possess,  or  even  to  liave  the  choice 
of,   these  united  qualities,  I  would 
recoumiend  them  to  consider  their 
comparative  value,  and  how  to  ba- 
lance them  against  each  other.    He 
that  has  fine  talents,  with  a  mode- 
rate estate  and  an  agreeable  per- 
son, is  far  preferal)le  to  him  who 
is    indehted    for    his    consequence 
and  im])ortance  in  the  world  to  lit- 
tle else  than    his    wealth ;    lor   ta- 
lents may  acquire  riches,  hut  riches 
cannot  purchase   talents.     At  the 
same  time,    wit  and  capacity  are 
only  estimable  w  hen  they  are  found- 
ed on  good-nature,  antl  directed  to 
augment  or  enliven   the  means  of 
'  rational  pleasure.   They  must  have 
I  ohserved  little  of  life  who  do  not 
'  know  certain  ingenious  men,  whose 
'  abilities    are  too   often    employed 
in    makinjx    themselves   and    those 
1  around  them  uneasy.    Prone  to  the 
;  indulgence  of  vanity  and  the  love 
of  pleasure,   they  cannot  support 
;  life  without  quick  sensations  and 
I  gay  reflections  :  tliey  are  strangers 
'  to  tranquillity  and  the  calm  exer- 
cise of  reason  ;  or  they  are  either 
elevated  into  an  excess  of  enjoy- 
ment, or  sink  into  a  state  of  de- 
pression,    or  all  men  living,  they 
are  most  to  be  avoided  by  iier  who 
I  looks  for  the  sober  joys  of  d'mies- 
•  tic  life  in  a  husband.     Soon  satia- 
j  ted  with  present  olijects,  they  fly 
I  to  new  acquisitions  of  enjoyment, 
i  and  run  the  round  of  pleasure,  as 
the  bee  passes  froin  Hower  to  flow- 
I  er,  hut  unlike  that  sagacious  in- 
sect, without  collecting  sweets  from 
I  any  of  them. 

At  the  same  time,  there  is  a  kind 

'  of  man,  and  I  w  ish  there  w  ere  more 

!  of  them,  possessing  hotli   w  it  and 

sense,  who  reflects  upon  the  duties 

attached  to  his  character  as  a  ra- 


286 


THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 


tional  being,  with  the  eyes  of  rea- 
son and  of  honour,  and  who,  when 
he  has  entered  into  the  married 
state,  must  consider  himself  as  of- 
fending against  both,  if  he  did  not 
look  upon  Iter,  who  has  chosen  hini 
for  her  protector  in  sickness  and 
health,  witii  the  most  grateful  re- 
gard;  whether  from  that  moment 
her  beauty  should  fade,  her  graces 
should  wither,  or  even  defects 
should  be  disct)vered  by  her  hus- 
band which  had  not  appeared  to 
the  lover:  such  a  man  will  think 
himself  bound  to  supply  with  good- 
nature the  failings  of  her  who  loves 
him. 

AVhen  a  lady  is  deliberating  with 
herself  whom  she  shall  chuse  from 
several  of  nearly  equal  preten- 
sions, I  should  recommend  her  to 
take  the  lover  who  has  the  best  un- 
derstanding for  lier  husband.  Life 
passes  hieavily  in  the  repeated  con- 
versation of  one  who  has  no  imagi- 
nation to  enliven  the  several  occa- 
sions and  objects  which  present 
themselves  to  him,  or  who  cannot 
strike  out  from  his  reflections  new 
paths  of  pleasing  discourse.  Be- 
sides, prudence  and  discretion, 
domestic  virtues  of  great  value, 
may  be  sup])osed  to  form  a  part  of 
the  character  of  a  man  of  under- 
standing, accompanied  with  a  pow- 
er to  correct  failings  and  improve 
virtues.  The  consequence  of  a 
husband  and  wife  who  know  not 
how  to  support  a  Uie-d-teie,  and, 
of  course,  find  it  irksome,  may  be 
foreseen  without  the  gift  of  pro- 
phecy. I  myself  knew  a  lady  who 
was  married  merely  for  her  beauty, 
and  who  consented  to  be  so  mar- 
ried merely  for  rank  and  fortune; 
and  on  being  asked,  about  three  or 
four  months    after    her   marriage, 


how  her  lord  did,  replied,  with  a 
careless  vivacity,  that  she  really 
could  not  tell,  as  she  had  not  asked 
him  the  question  for  the  last  six 
weeks. 

It  is  not,  I  think,  exalting  the 
commerce  of  a  man  of  understand- 
ing too  high,  to  say,  that  every 
new  accident  or  object  is,  in  some 
way  or  other,  made  to  promote  the 
pleasure  or  satisfaction  of  his  do- 
mestic circle.  The  wife  of  such  a 
man  hnds  a  continual  feast  in  the 
approbation  of  his  words  and  ac- 
tions ;  nor  can  she  enough  applaud 
her  good  fortune  in  having  her  life 
varied  every  hour,  her  mind  more 
improved,  and  her  heart  more  glad, 
from  every  occurring  circumstance. 
He  will  employ  liis  invention  in 
forming  new  pleasures  and  amuse- 
ments, and  make  the  fortune  which 
she  has  brought  him,  subservient 
to  her  honour  and  reputation.  A 
man  of  sense,  who  is  thus  benefit- 
ed, is  ever  contriving  the  happiness 
of  her  who  accompanied  her  heart 
and  hand  with  such  an  addition  j 
while  the  fool  is  ungrateful,  though 
he  may  not  be  absolutely  vicious, 
and  does  not  return  a  favour,  be- 
cause he  is  not  sensible  of  having: 
received  it. 

I  was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  declaration  of  a  clever  young 
unmarried  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, after  we  had  been  conversing 
in  a  select  company  on  the  subject 
of  marriage.  It  was  this: — "  I 
trust  and  hope,"  she  observed,  "  I 
should  have  so  much  to  say  for 
[nyself,  that  if  I  fell  into  the  hands 
of  a  husband  who  treated  me  ill, 
he  should  be  sensible  when  he  did 
so:  his  conscience,  at  least,  should 
be  of  my  side,  whatever  became  of 
his  inclination." 


THE   FEMALE   TATTLKll. 


287 


If  my  recollection  serves  nie  with 
accunicy,  it  is  Mr.  Addison  who 
observes,  if  the  letters  written  by 
men  of  understanding  to  their 
wives  were  to  be  compared  w-itti 
those  written  by  men  of  galhmtry 
to  their  mistresses,  the  former,  not- 
withstanding some  inequalities-  of 
style,  would  possess  a  complete  ! 
advantage  over  the  latter.  Friend- 
ship,  tenderness,  and  constancy, 
dressed  in  a  simplicity  of  expres-  I 
sion,  reconnnend  themselves  by  a 
more  native  elegance  than  passioti- 
ate  raptures,  extravagant  encomi-  j 
urns,  and  slavish  adoration.  If 
Flirtilla's  cabinet  could  be  search- 
ed, it  is  more  t'nan  probable,  that 
the  greater  part  of  the  epistles  so 
carefully  preserved  there,  would 
be  disgusting  to  every  one  but  the 
coquette  who  is  flattered  by  them. 
Cut  if  Aspasia's  casket  was  ex- 
amined, what  would  l)e  the  charac- 
ter of  the  valued  letters  which 
would  be  found  there?  1  shall  an- 
swer the  que^tion  by  gi.ving  yon 
the  character  of  the  writer  of  them. 
Her  husband,  in  public  and  pri- 
vate, appears  to  have  every  good 
quality  and  desirable  attainment. 
Abroad  he  is  esteemed  and  reve- 
renced ;  at  home  he  is  l)eloved  and 
happy.  The  satisfaction  he  enjoys 
there  settles  into  an  habitual  com- 
placenc}',  which  shints  in  tiis  coun- 
tenance, eidivens  his  uit,  and  sea- 
sojis  his  conversation;  and  it  is,  in 
a  great  measure,  owing  to  his  be- 
ing the  best  and  best  beloved  of 
husbands,  that  he  is  the  most  agree- 
able companion,  and  the  most  stead- 
last  of  friends. 

There  is  a  sensible  pleasure  in 
contemplating  such  beautiful  in- 
stances of  domestic  life.  The  hap- 
piness of  the  conjugal  state  appears 


heightened  to  the  highest  degree 
of  which  it  is  capable,  when  we  see 
two  persons  of  accomplished  minds 
not  only  united  in  the  same  inter- 
ests and  affections,  but  in  their 
taste  for  the  same  iniprovements, 
pleasures,  and  diversions.  Pliny 
has  left  us,  in  his  letter  to  Ilis- 
pulla,  his  wife'.s  aunt,  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  lamii}'  documents 
I  have  ever  seen.  Nor  can  I  do 
better  than  conclude  this  paper 
with  a  translation  of  it,  which  t)e- 
ing  made  by  a  particular  friend  of 
mine,  who  is  a  very  excellent  scho- 
lar, I  have  no  doubt  is  |)erfeclly 
correct.  I  am  satisfied  that  my 
readers  will, without  reserve,  afree, 
that  conjugal  love  is  drawn  in  it 
with  a  delicacy,  which  makes  it 
ap])ear,  as  I  have  represented  it,  an 
ornan)ent  as  well  as  a  virtue. 

"  PLINY    TO    HISPULLA. 

"  As  I  remember  the  <ireat  af- 
fection which  subsisted  between 
you  and  your  excellent  brother, 
and  am  sensiblej^ou  love  his  daugh- 
ter with  the  same  affection  as  if 
she  were  your  own,  so  as  not  only- 
to  express  the  tenderness  of  the 
best  of  aunts,  but  even  to  supplv 
that  of  the  best  of  fatlicrs,  1  am 
sure  it  will  be  a  pleasure  for  3ori 
to  hear,  that  she  proves  worthy  of 
her  father,  worthy  of  you,  and  of 
her  and  j'our  ancestors.  Her  in- 
genuity is  admirable,  and  her  fru- 
gality extraordinary  :  s'^e  loves  me, 
which  is  the  surest  pledge  of  her 
virtue;  and  adds  to  this  a  wonder- 
ful disposition  to  learning,  which 
she  has  acquired  front  her  af- 
fection to  me.  She  reads  my  wri- 
tings, studies  them,  and  even  get-^ 
them  by  heart.  Yon  would  smile 
to  see  the  concern  she  i-^  in  nhen 
I  have  a  cause  to  plead,  and  the 


288 


THE    WATERLOO    BIUDGE. 


joy  slie  shews  when  it  is  over.  She 
finds  means  to  have  the  first  news 
brought  her  of  the  success  I  meet 
with  in  court,  liovv  I  am  lieard,  and 
what  decree  is  made.  If  I  recite 
any  thing  in  public,  she  cannot  re- 
frain from  placing  lierself  {private- 
ly in  some  corner  to  hear,  where, 
with  tlie  utmost  delight,  she  feasts 
upon  my  applauses.  Sometimes 
she  sings  my  verses,  and  accompa- 
nies them  with  a  lute,  without  any 
master,  except  love,  the  best  of  in- 
structors. From  these  instances  I 
take  the  most  certain  omens  of  our 
perpetual  and  increasing  happi- 
ness; since  her  aft'ection  is  not 
fouTided  on  my  youth  and  person, 
which  must  gradually  decay,  but 
she   is  iu  love  with  the   immortal 


part  of  me — my  reputation  and  my 
glory.  Nor,  indeed,  could  less  be 
expected  from  one  who  had  the 
happiness  to  receive  her  education 
from  you  ;  who,  in  your  house,  was 
accustomed  to  every  thing  tliat  was 
virtuous  and  becoming,  and  even 
began  to  love  me  by  your  recom- 
mendation: for  as  you  had  always 
the  greatest  respect  for  my  mother, 
you  were  pleased,  from  my  infan- 
cy, to  form  me,  to  commend  me, 
and  kindly  to  presage  1  should  be 
one  day  what  my  wife  fancies  1  am. 
"  Accept,  therefore,  our  united 
thanks;  mine  that  you  have  be- 
stowed her  on  me,  and  her's  that 
you  have  given  ine  to  her,  as  a  mu- 
tual grant  of  joy  and  felicity." 

F- T -,,.- 


^j...  Plate  27.— THE  WATERLOO  BRIDGE.         ..j^^cjf,; 

''"The  prevailing  disposition  of  ca- .,  centre  of  London.  By  the  act  of 
pitalists  to  unite  in  extensive  spe-  '  Parliament  first  obtained  toward* 
cnlations  for  the  improven)ent  of  ||  its  erection,  it  was  called  the  Strand 
their  property,  th.e  increase  of  the  '  Bridge,  but  the  proprietors  wishing 
metropolis  on  the  south  side  of  tlie  to  do  lionour  to  the  edifice,  and  to 
Thames,  and  the  readiness  with  [;  testify  their  admiration  of  the  great 
which    the   public    avails    itstlf  of !' eventthatsosuccessfully  signalized 


every   facility  of  trade,    have  en- 
couraged  projectors  to  devise  se- 


the  fortitude  and  prowess  of  their 
countrj',  and  at  the  same  time  laid 


veral  plans  for  passing  the  river  at     the  foundation    of   a   new,  and    it 


London  ami  in  its  neighbourhood. 
Of  these,  the  bridge  faithfully  re- 
presented in  the  annexed  plate, 
claims  a  high  distinction,  on  ac- 
count of  the  magnitude  of  the  work 
and  the  science  displayed  in  its 
erection,  as  well  as  for  the  advan- 
tage that  it  offers  to  the  tov.n  by 
the  judicious  situation  in  which  it 
is  placed;  this  is,  between  West- 


is  trusted  a  peaceful,  era  in  the 
political  annals  of  Europe,  have 
since  named  it  Waterloo  Bridge  ; 
and  upon  obtaining  another  act  of 
Parliament  in  furtherance  of  th.eir 
design,  it  was  so  designated.  The 
victory  of  that  field  of  glory  it  is 
worthy  to  commemorate,  and  will 
do  so  for  njany  ages  ;  for  the  con- 
struction  is  so  iudicious,  the    ma- 


minster  and  Blackfriars  Bridges,  j  terials  with  which  it  is  composed 
bei:ig  nearly  equidistant  from  tiiem,  ij  so  durable,  and  the  workmanship 
.and  near  Somerset-Place,  in  il;e  ji  so  excellent^  that  no  doubt  can  be 
Stfaud,    v.hicli  spot   is  aboui   the  :1  eiuertfvined ^f ■  its  wabii^tyy  andao 


^11  uv^iu 


ADVENTURES   OF   A    LtGACY-HUNTRESS, 


289 


anticipation  fonncil  of  that  time  at 
which  it  sliall  be  destroyed  Uy  nii- 
tuial  decay. 

This  bridge  differs  from  those 
that  already  cross  the  river  at  Lon- 
don, as  its  arches  are  all  of  an  uni- 
form size,  and  the  top  of  its  parapet 
and  balustrade  j)erfectly  straight: 
uhereas  the  arches  of  the  bridges 
at  Blackfriars  and  Westminster  di- 
minish gradually  in  width  and 
height,  as  they  are  more  or  less 
removed  from  the  centre  arch  ;  and 
their  parapets  form  a  regular  curve 
or  arched  line,  that  also  represents 
the  rise  and  descent  of  the  roads 
along  then).  In  the  instance  of  the 
Waterloo  Bridge,  the  bold  and 
elevated  shore  of  the  Strand  at 
Somerset-Place  reniUred  such  a 
curve  unnecessary,  therefore  the 
descent  does  not  tak^  place  until 
the  river  is  passed  ;  it  tlum  declines 
easily,  and  connects  itself  with  the 
common  level  of  the  road.  The 
width  of  the  Thames  at  the  point 
at  which  it  is  here  crossed,  is  greater 
than  its  general  channel,  and  is 
upwards  of  thirteen  hinidred  feet; 
the  bridge  is  therefore  made  to 
consist  of  nine  arches,  which  are 
semi-elliiitical,  each  one  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  span  ;  aiul  of  eigh.t 
piers,  each  twenty  feet  thick,  ex- 


clusive of  thr:  ahntinents.  The  piers 
are  ornamented  by  coupled  pillars, 
supporting  an  entablature  that  em- 
braces the  whole  line  of  the  bridge, 
and  which  terminates  above  curved 
recesses,  that  form  the  water-stairs 
on  either  side  of  its  extremities; 
and  these  are  also  decorated  by 
corresponding  pillars:  the  whole 
will  be  surmounted  by  a  balustrade 
and  suitable  supports  for  lamps. 
The  stone  em[)loyed  in  the  erection 
is  chiefly  granite,  and  the  spot  on 
which  it  has  been  wrought,  near 
the  southern  extremity,  has  long 
presented  an  interesting  scene, 
from  its  peculiar  mode  of  work- 
manship, and  the  ingenuity  that  has 
been  exercised  in  the  landing  of 
the  stones  from  the  craft,  convey- 
ing it  to  the  field,  and  thence  to 
its  destination.  The  comparative 
ease  with  which  the  operations  iiave 
been  perforujed,  niu>t,  in  the  minds 
of  candid  observers,  remove  those 
illiberal  pre)udi(.es  against  the  ta- 
lents of  the  moderns  and  in  favour 
of  the  extraordinary  abilities  of  the 
ancients,  which  they  have  imbibed 
with  an  education  admirabh'  cal- 
culated to  give  the  laiter  an  undue 
superiority  over  the  arti  ts  and  en- 
gineers of  th.e  present  day.  Mr. 
llennie  is  the  en-iineer. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A 
Mr.  Ei)i  roR, 

I  WAS  the  only  child  of  pa- 
rents who  were  themselves  very  far 
from  opulent,  but  who  had  each 
rich  relations,  by  whom, to  speak  in 
their  own  phrase,  they  expected 
sonie  day  or  other  to  be  the  better. 
During  my  infant  years  tlieir  time 
was  passed  in  a  perpetual  vicissi- 
tudeof  expectation  and  disappoint- 
To/.  //.  No.  XL 


LEGACY-HUXTRESS. 
I  ment,  for  these  relations  were  all 
\  u»uch  older  than  themselves:  how- 
;  ever,  in  spiie  of  age,  illness,  and 
I  the  advice  of  the  faculty,  they  per- 
sisted in  living;  and  by  the  time  1 
had  attained  my  sixteenth  year,  my 
parents,  wearied  out  with  an  alter- 
nate succession  of  hope  and  fear 
iu    their   own    behalf,    generously 
came  to  a  resolution  to  make  over 
Q  Q 


290 


ADVENTURES    OF   A   LEOACY-HUxNTRESS. 


the  reversion  (of  their  expectations 
I  mean)  of  Mrs.  Catherine  Cross- 
grain's  property  in  my  favour. 

This  old  lady,  who  was  at  that 
period  considerably  turned  of  six- 
t3',  was  the  most  arbitrary,  acrimo- 
r.ious,  and  precise  of  the  whole  sis- 
terliood  of  old  maids,  of  which  slie 
had  shewn  herself  a  determined 
member,  often  declaring  that  no 
man,  who  did  not  emulate  the  per- 
fections of  her  favourite  hero,  Sir 
Charles  Graudison,  should  ever  be 
honoured  with  her  fair  hand  in  ma- 
trimony. Though,  entie  nous,  Mr. 
Editor,  her  expectations  of  a  Sir 
Charles  proved  her  wofuUy  defi- 
cient in  one  virtue  at  least,  I  mean 
humility,  as  her  own  character  was 
the  antipodes  to  that  of  Clementina 
or  Miss  Byron.  As  no  counterpart 
of  the  baronet  presented  himself, 
Mrs.  Catherine  continued  in  a  state 
of  celibacy  ;  and  her  temper,  which 
in  her  youth  was  extremely  bad, 
became  in  her  old  age  insupport- 
able: nevertheless,  as  soon  as  my 
parents  could  succeed  in  obtaining 
her  consent,  which  happened  when 
I  was  in  my  sixteenth  year,  they 
sent  me  to  her,  declaring  that  it 
was  morally  impossible  for  a  girl, 
brought  up  as  I  had  been,  not  to 
be  able  to  conciliate  and  retain  her 
favour. 

I  must  do  my  mother  the  justice 
to  say,  that  if  I  was  not  the  most 
supple,  patient,  and  assiduous  of 
dependents,  it  was  not  her  fault; 
for,  from  my  earliest  recollection, 
1  had  been  habituated  to  have 
neither  eyes,  ears,  nor  understand- 
ing of  my  own.  1  had  been  so  well 
trained,  that  I  never  presumed  to 
question  the  propriety  of  any  com- 
mand given  me,  however  it  milita- 
ted against  my  own  ideas  of  what 
was  right  or  necessary.     Do  not 


mistake  me,  Mr.  Editor,  I  was  ne- 
ver desired  to  do  any  thing  actual- 
ly wrong  ;  but  my  mother's  com- 
mands were  so  contradictory,  and  at 
times  of  so  tyrannical  a  nature,  that 
it  required  an  uncommon  stock  of 
patience  and  good-humour  to  per- 
form them  without  unwillingness. 

I  set  out  from  home  stored  with 
advice,  and  flattered  with  presages 
that  I  should  live  to  be  a  rich  heir- 
ess. My  nurse,  the  only  person 
from  whom  I  ever  received  any 
indulgence,  accompanied  me,  and 
her  predictions  of  my  future  gran- 
deur contributed  to  banish  the  re- 
grets which  I  could  not  help  feel- 
ing at  quitting  home.  As  I  had 
never  been  ten  miles  in  my  life 
from  the  small  market-town  in 
which  we  lived,  I  was  equally  de- 
lighted and  surprised  at  the  roman" 
tic  beauty  of  the  country  through 
which  we  passed;  and  the  nearer 
we  approached  Mrs.  Crossgrain'si 
seat,  the  more  beautiful  it  became. 
I  indulged  the  most  pleasing  anti- 
cipation of  the  charming  walks  and 
rides  I  should  have,  as  Mrs.  Cross- 
grain,  who  was,  I  should  tell  you, 
my  maternal  grand-aunt,  kept  a 
carriage;  when  all  at  once,  by  a 
sudden  turn  of  the  road,  we  lost 
sight  of  this  delightful  prospect, 
and  entered  a  most  dreary  heath, 
at  the  extremity  of  which  my  aunt's 
mansion  was  situated.  Gloomy 
Grove,  as  it  was  called,  was  worthy 
of  its  name,  for  there  was  not  a 
room  in  tlie  whole  house  that  would 
not  have  reminded  you  of  the  cave 
of  Trophonius.  All  my  agreeable 
anticipations  vanished  in  a  mo- 
ment; and  I  entered  the  apartment 
in  which  Mrs.  Crossgrain  was  seat- 
ed, with  an  air  of  gravity  very  fo- 
reign to  my  general  appearance. 
My  seriousness  proved  lucky  for 


ADVENTUIIES   OF   A   LF.GACY-HUNTRESS. 


291 


me,  as  tlie  old  lady,  surveying  me 
minutely  for  some  moments  tlirungli 
lier  spectacles,  condescended  to 
observe,  that  trom  my  demeanour 
she  was  almost  persuaded,  that  my 
mother's  account  of  the  solidity  of 
my  disposition  was  not  quite  the 
etVect  of  maternal  fondness;  and 
having  saluted  u)y  cheek,  she  de- 
sired me  to  sit  down  and  rest  be- 
fore I  changed  my  dress  for  dinner. 

\Vlien  my  first  emotion  of  tenor 
liad  subsided,  I  ventured  to  look 
lip,  and  I  never  shall  forget  the 
awe  which  seized  me  at  the  moment 
that  my  eyes  met  those  of  my  anti- 
quated relative,  whose  tall  meagre 
figure,  and  pale  wrinkled  counte- 
nance, naturally  of  the  longest,  and 
rendered  still  more  so  by  the  height 
of  her  head-dress,  the  fashion  of 
which  I  afterwards  learned  she  had 
not  changed  for  thirtv  years,  were 
well  calculated  to  render  her  truly 
formidable  to  any  girl  of  my  age. 

To  a  cold  inquiry  of  how  I  had 
left  my  parents,  a  profound  silence 
of  half  an  hour  succeeded,  which 
was  broken  by  the  old  lady's  re- 
marking, that  now  I  was  rested,  I 
had  better  go  and  change  my  dress, 
ringing  at  the  same  time  for  her 
woman,  who,  I  must  observe  toyou, 
was  her  mistress's  counterpart,  to 
shew  me  the  way  to  my  chamber. 
A  very  short  time  sufficed  to  make 
the  necessary  alteration  in  my 
dress, and  I  approached  thedining- 
parlour  with  a  lighter  step  than  I 
had  left  the  drawing-room ;  but  I 
had  hardly  entered,  when  Mrs. 
C'rossgrain,  drawing  up  her  scrag- 
gy neck  with  an  air  of  indignation 
mingled  with  contempt,  inquired 
wliethcf  I  had  come  to  her  liouse  ! 
fbr  the  express  purpose  of  con-  I 
vincii'A'g  'titplif  the  licentiousness  of 


the  age.  "  Good  heavens,  madam, 
how  can  you  ask  me  such  a  ques- 
tion ?"  cried  I,  looking  at  her  with 
astonishment,  not  unmixed  with 
a  suspicion  that  shewas  seized  with 
a  temporary  frenzy. 

"  Because,  miss,"  replied  she, 
in  the  most  acrimonious  tone, 
"  though  1  have  often  heard,  I  ne- 
ver before  believed,  tiiat  a  young 
woiTian  could  exhibit  her  person  in 
the  indecent  manner  that  you  do 
yours."  (I  must,  in  justice  to  my- 
self, Mr.  Editor,  declare,  that  there 
was  not  the  smallest  foundation  for 
this  charge.)  "  Go,  return  to  your 
apartment ;  cover  your  elbows,  put 
a  handkerchief  on  your  neck,  and 
pray  let  a  dress  cap,  for  I  suppose 
von  have  not  presumed  to  come  to 
my  house  without  something  of  the 
kind,  hide  the  frightful  appearance 
of  your  hair." 

You  may  believe  I  did  not  wait 
a  reiteration  of  her  orders;  but  al- 
though 1  strictly  obeyed  her  direc- 
tions, I  was  not  happy  enough  to 
meet  with  her  approbation.  She 
assured  me  my  things  were  huddled 
on  in  the  most  unbecoming  man- 
ner; that  I  had  not  the  least  taste; 
and,  in  short,  that  I  u  as  a  complete 

I  fright.  I  believe  that  the  placidity 
with  which  I  listened  to  this  decla- 

:  ration  in  some  degree  disappoint- 
ed the  old  lady,  for  she  preserved 

,  a  sullen  silence  during  dinner,  and 
when  it  was  removed,  she  told  me 
to  amuse  myself  with  a  book  if  I 

!  chose    for   an    hour,    and   leaning 

i  back  in  her  arm-chair,  composed 

i  herself  to  sleep. 

As  the  only  books  I  could  find 

1  were  Drc/uicourt  on  Death,  Iloijle's 

Treatise  on  Whist,  and  Amadis  de 

Gaul,  I  soon  laid  them  aside,  and 

continued  to  ruminate  on  my  situa- 

Q  Q  -2 


^m 


ADVENTURES    OF   A    LRGACY-HUNTUESS, 


tion,  till  Mrs.  Crossgrain  awoke 
and  desired  ir,e  to  make  tea,  which 
1  did  with  »reat  alacrity;  but  the 
moment  she  tasted  it,  she  pro- 
nounced it  execrable.  —  "  To  be 
sure,"  cried  she,  "  1  have  not  yet 
made  my  will^  or  else  I  should 
thini-;  (Heaven  forgive  me!)  that 
you  iiad  a  design  upon  my  life. 
Wily  I  could  as  soon  swallow  the 
same  quantity  of  bnindy,  and  I  dare 
say  it  would  do  as  little  harm. 
Pra\',  child,  did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  vjocd  nerves?"  I  hastened  to 
rectify  my  unfortunate  blunder, 
but  I  only  made  maiters  worse. 
"Mercy  upon  me!"  exclaimed 
the  old  ladv,  "  what  stuff  is  this  ? 
Why,  child,  one  would  think  yo\i 
bad  given  me  the  contents  of  tlje 
slop-bason;  I  n'"\er  tasted  such  an 
insipid  mixture  of  half-cold  sugar 
and  water  in  my  life.  Heaven  de- 
fend me  from  the  misses  of  the 
age,  if  you  are  a  specimen  of 
them  !" 

I  attempted  to  stammer  out  an 
apology,  but  she  would  not  suffer  me 
to  proceed.  Her  woman  was  rung 
for  to  make  the  tea,  a  task  she  per- 
formed a  little  more  to  her  mis- 
tress's satisfaction  than  I  had  done; 
and  the  tea  equipage  being  re- 
jnoved,  my  aunt  inquired  whether 
I  understood  whist,  in  a  tone  that 
plainly  implied  she  expected  an 
answer  in  the  negative  ;  but  lucki- 
ly for  me  I  play  very  tolerably,  and 
as  I  had  prudence  enough  to  avoid 
winning,  the  evening  concluded 
with  more  harmony  than  I  had 
ventured  to  hope  lor. 
.  At  eleven  o'clock  I  retired  to  my 
bed-chamber,  the  gloomy  and  an- 
tique appearance  of  vvliich  contri- 
buted, with  the  disagreeables  I  had 
already  met  with,  to  cost  me  a  flood 


of  tears.  I  endeavoured,  however,. 
t;o  console  myself  with  the  hope 
that  the  worst  was  over,  and  I 
arose  the  next  morning  in  better 
spirits. 

After  breakfast,  my  aunt,  whoi 
was  working  a  set  of  chairs,  de- 
sired my  assistance,  and  ringing  at 
tiie  same  time  for  her  woman,  we 
three  began  to  ply  the  steel  bar 
with  great  assiduity,  and  I  enjoyed. 
an  hour's  quiet ;  but,  unluckily,  on 
iMrs.  Crossgrain's  examining  my 
work,  she  found  I  had  taken  three 
threads  instead  of  two  in  the  top 
stitch  of  Hector's  helmet,  which, 
threw  her  into  a  violent  passion,  in 
which  she  intimated^  in  pretty  plain 
terms,  that  I  was  fit  for  noihin>£  in 
the  world,  and  that  she  had  a  great 
mind  to  send  me  home.  Though 
certain  that  my  reception  would 
be  far  from  a  kind  one,  I  was  so, 
frightened  at  her  vehemence,  that 
I  really  had  not  power  to  beg  her 
pardon.  In  a  little  time  her  pas- 
sion began  to  subside,  and  she 
condescended  to  desire  me  to  take 
a  book,  saying,  in  a  most  ungra- 
cious tone,  that  she  supj)osed  I 
could  read,  though  I  could  do  no- 
thing else. 

Glad  of  any  thing  that  looked 
like  an  approach  to  reconciliation, 
I  hastily  began  the  passage  whicli 
she  pointed  out,  and  which  hap- 
pened to  be  a  long  speecii  of  AtUe- 
nais  in  the  Force  of  Love;  but  I  had 
not  read  half  a  dozen  lines,  when  my 
aunt,  snatching  the  book  out  of  my 
hand,  declared  I  had  no  more  idea 
of  reading  blank  verse  than  a  child 
in  the  louesc  class  of  a  charity 
school.  "Well  as  I  had  been  train- 
ed, tids  last  speech  put  patience 
and  prudence  both  to  flight :  I 
rose,  and  saying,  "  1  fear,  madam, 


MUSICAL   KEVIKW. 


19S 


tbat  it  is  my  misfortune  to  he  ut- 
terly unable  to  please  yon."  I 
would  have  retired,  but  Mrs.  Cross- 
grain,  in  a  voice  of  autbority,  or- 
dered uie  to  stop  and  bear  bow 
blank  verse  ougbt  to  be  read;  and 
taking  u|)  tbe  book,  sbe  did  nie  tbe 
favour  to  read  tbe  whole  scene  in  a 
manlier  so  aiVected  and  ridiculous, 
tbat,  vexed  as  I  was,  I  bad  great 
difficulty  to  keep  my  countenance. 


On  finisbingtbe  scene,  sbe  banded 
me  tbe  book,  but  I  bep:ged  to  de- 
cline continuing  tbe  play,  as>uring 
ber  tbat  I  was  certain  I  sbould  ne- 
ver be  able  to  read  it  in  ber  man- 
mer.  Tbis  speecb,  ubicb  sbe  con- 
sidered as  a  compliment,  sootbed 
ber  so  much,  tbat  for  tbe  rest  of  tbe 
day  sbe  was  in  very  tolerable  hu- 
mour. 

(Tu  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


MUSICAL  IlEVIEAr. 


Waters  ofE'ie,  extracted  from  "  Gle- 
narxon,^^  arranged  to  the  favnnrite 
Air  "  Us  ne  sont  p/iis,^^  with  an 
Accompaniment  for  the  Piano- 
J'orte  or  Harp,  by  F.  J.  Klose. 
Tr.  i2s. 

Tnii  French  air  to  wbicli  these 
stanzas  are  applied,  not  only  suits 
tbe  text  well,  but  is  in  itself  of  that 
soft  and  n)elodious  simplicity  w  hicb 
seldom  fails  making  its  way  to  the 
lieartof  tbe  uncultivated  multitude, 
as  well  as  of  the  real  votary  of  mu- 
sic.    Tbe  arrangement  is  easy,  yet 
effective.     Tbe  D  in  tbe  1st  bar  of 
tbe  voice  sbould  have  been  C. 
The  Tuscan'* s  InvQcation  to  his  native 
Hume,    arranged   to  a  favourite 
.  Air   of   Winter's,    zcith    an    Ac- 
companiment for  the  Piano-  Forte, 
and  rcspcclfulltj  dedicated  to  her 
Grace  the  Duchess  of  Leeds,  by 
F.  J.  Klose.     Pr.  '2s. 
To  ibis  air,  for  one  voice,  ISlr. 
Klose    has    adapted   tbe    beautiful 
duet,  "  Vagbi   colli,  ameni  prati," 
in    W  inter's  Ratto  di   Proserpina. 
We  perceive  tbe  difficulties  which 
Mr.  K.  had   to  encounter,  and  the 
ingenuity  be  exercisetl  in   produ- 
cing a  tolerably  good   fit;  a  con?- 
pleteonc  it  is  not.  .  Among  two  or 


three  instances  of  deviations  fron7 
the  original,  we  shall  oidy  mention 
the  objectionable  expedient  of  ap- 
portioning  occasionally  the  begin- 
ning  of  the  poetical  period  to  tb© 
c/ose  of  tlie  preceding  musical  one 
(voice  bars  4,  6,  &.c.}.  Even  to  those 
\ith  whom  the  original  is  not,  as 
A'itii  us,  u[)permost,  these  passages 
will    prol)ably    appear    awkward. 
Yet  with  all  tbis,  tbe  circumstance 
of  possessing  English  words  to  so 
excellent  a   composition,  and  the 
justice  winch   has  been  done  to  it 
i  as  far  as  the  harmonic  compression 
i  and    arrangement  of  the    score  is 
i  concerned,  will    no   doubt    render 
I  Mr.  Klose's    labour   acceptable  to 
the  vocal  amateur. 
'  /J  grand  Duet  for  tzco  Performers  oh 
one   Piano- Forte,   composed,   and 
most  respectfully  dedicated  to  Miss 
Scott  and   Miss   II.  Scott,  by  J. 
Gildon.     Op.  1-2.     Pr.  os. 
As  we  do   not  recollect  having 
seen  tbis  duet  before,  we  suppose 
it   to    be    a    posthumous   work   of 
the   late    Mr.   Gildon's,  several  of 
which    have    appeared    in    public 
since  his  death.     Tbe  present  pub- 
lication  is  a  farther  proof  of  the 
loss  the  musical  world  has  sustain- 


294 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


ed  by  his  premature  decease.  The 
allegro,  in  particular,  is  conceived 
in  proper  style;  it  possesses  the 
fluent  brilliancy  of  tlie  best  of 
Pleyel's  sonatas,  to  which  it  bears 
considerable  resemblance,  botb  in 
pointof  melody  and  in  the  passages. 
The  slow  movement  is  throughout 
interesting,  exceptperhapsan  anti- 
quated close  in  the  allied  minor 
key  in  the  second  part.  The  alle- 
gretto which  terminates  the  duet, 
is  full  of  life  and  spirit;  a  circum- 
stance calculated  to  elicit  the  sym- 
pathy of  those  who  know  under 
what  pressure  of  misfortune  and 
disease  it  must  have  been  written. 
There  are  no  intricacies  of  execu- 
tion in  any  part  of  this  duet,  and 
the  bass  part  in  particular  may  be 
mastered  by  a  performer  of  very 
limited  abilities. 

Duet  for  the  Harp  and  Piano-Forte^ 
composed  for  ^  and  respectfulli/  de- 
dicated to.  Miss  Glover,  by  Jolin 
Davy.     Op.  12.     Pr.  5s. 
An   allegro  and    rondo   in    E  b, 
with  an   intervening    slow   move- 
n^euit  in  B  b,  form  the  duet  before 
us.     All  these  pieces  are  conceived 
in  a  pleasing  style;  they  are  easy 
of  execution  for  botli  instruments, 
of  very  moderate  length,  the  harr 
mon}',  without  being  vulgar,  is  ex- 
empt from  studied  intricacies,  and 
the  passages  are  fairly  divided  be- 
tween   the    two   performers.     We 
are  therefore  of  opinion,  that  this 
publication  is  well  suited  to  display- 
limited  abilities  to  considerable  ad- 
vantage. The  rondo,  a  wahz  theme, 
is  particularly  livel\'  and  attractive. 
Air,  Minuet,  and  Polacca  Fugata 
for  the  Piano-  Forte,  composed,  and 
inscribed  to  Miss   Yzarn,  at  Mrs 
fiaxter^s    Boarding- School,   Put- 
ney, by  W.  II.  Callender.  Pr.  2s. 
In  the  melody  and  the  decorative 


amplifications  of  the  first  of  these 
movements,  a  short  allegro  in  Bb, 
Mr.  Callender  has  evinced  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  tasteful  inven- 
tion, although  the  w  hole  would  hav« 
derived  increased  attraction  from  a- 
more  varied  bass,  the  left  hand  be- 
ing throughout  employed  in  chords 
broken  into  eight  quavers.  The 
minuet  is  agreeable  ;  but  here,  too, 
the  bass  would  have  admitted  of 
improvement,  there  being  occa- 
sionally whole  lines  in  which  the 
left  hand  dwells  upon  a  dotted  mi- 
nim bar  after  bar.  The  polacca 
we  deem  the  chief  movement  in 
this  book  ;  it  partakes  but  in  a  tri- 
fling degree  of  the  fugued  charac- 
ter ascribed  to  it,  and  does  not 
strictly  possess  all  the  requisite:* 
of  a  polonaise;  but  it  shews  skill 
and  attentive  care  on  the  part  of 
the  composer,  and  a  proper  share 
of  harmonic  science.  The  modu- 
lations in  the  middle  of  p.  5  are 
select,  and  in  the  6th  page  we  equali- 
ty discover  matter  of  much  interest; 
What  will  recommend  this  move- 
ment still  more,  is  the  neatness  of- 
the  passages  for  the  right  hand,  all 
which  are  eminently  calculated  to 
give  wholesome  exercise  to  the 
fingers. 

Rondo,  withoriginal  Russian  Themes, 
for  the  Piano-  Forte,  composed,  and 
dedicated  to  Miss  Christian  Lane, 
byFerd.  Ries.     Op.  67.     Pr.  3s. 
The  Russian  airs  which  Mr.  Ries 
now  and  then  takes  an  opportunity 
of  interweaving  with  his  composi- 
tions, fully  justify  his  partiality  fof 
the  melodies  of  that  people.     They*" 
possess,  besides  tlieir  natural  origi- 
nality, a  peculiar  character,  not  on- 
ly free  from  common-place  ideas 
or  vulgarisms^  but  really  graceful 
and  replete  with  feeling.     This  is 
the  case  with  the  principal  theme. 


MUSICAL   IlEVIEW. 


295 


in  A  minor,  of  the  rondo,  which, 
by  means  of  clever  cowtrivance, 
forms  also  the  leadintr  thought  in 
the  very  sliort,  but  eminently  ori- 
ginal grave  in  front  of  ithe  rondo. 
VVitliouL  following  our  author  in 
the  whole  track  which  his  exube- 
rant fancy  and  consununate  skill 
have  pursued  in  this  movement,  we 
shall  next  luivci'L  to  the  second  Rus- 
sian theme,  a  dance  in  C  major, 
wliich  forms  the  ground-work  of 
nuich  interestintr  niatier  of  di<>res- 
sion  in  p.  4.  Tiie  modulations  in 
that  j)age,  with  the  assistance  of 
crossed  hands,  are  of  the  first  or- 
der in  point  of  elaborate  finish  and 
science.  In  the  6th  page  we  can- 
not pass  over  the  fine  representa- 
tion of  the  first  theme  by  the  left 
hand,  and  the  select  evolutions 
which  ensue.  A  third  Russian  air, 
in  slow  movement  [p.  7),  arrests 
our  attention  by  its  peculiar  style 
and  its  pathetic  melotly  ;  and  the 
modulations  [p.  8,  /.  1),  by  which 
a  transition  is  effected  to  the  second 
theme  (now  exhibited  in  A  major), 
are  of  first-rate  conception  and 
excellence.  We  must  also  not  omit 
noticing  the  very  odd  conclusion  of 
the  rondo  on  th.e  insulated  key  of 
A,  after  the  melody  hafl  regularly 
proceeded  to  C  major;  a  whim  we 
are  by  no  means  iticlined  to  (]iiar- 
rel  with.  The  whole  of  this  rondo, 
like  the  generality  of  Mr.  R.'s  la- 
bours, bears  evidence,  that  not  the 
fingers  alone,  but  the  head  and 
heart  have  co-operated  in  its  pro- 
duction. 
"  Note  each  Tic  of  Love  is  broken,''' 

jiuszffer  to  Lord  Byron's  "  Fare 

t/tee  tcel/,''  composed  by  G.  Kiall- 

mark.     Pr.  '2s. 

However  diuiinished  the  sensa- 
tion may  be  that  was  excited  at  the 


first  appearance  of  the  poetry  to 
which  this  anonymous  answer  ap- 
plies, the  melody  devised  thereto 
by  Mr.  K.  is  of  a  description  still 
to  afford  considerable  interest.  It 
is  regular  in  construction,  tasteful 
and  impressive,  without  being  la- 
boured or  affected  ;  and  the  ac- 
companiment is  proj)er  and  effec- 
tive. The  omission  of  a  Natural 
before  the  D  in  the  fourth  bar  of 
the  second  page,  and  in  the  like 
bars  subsequently,  we  ascribe  to 
accident. 

Sonata  J'or  the  Piano- Forte,  com- 
posed,  and  dedicated  to  Miss  Gih- 
Inngs,  by  F.  Kalkbrenner.  Pr.  4s. 
In  our  preceding  number  we 
have  had  the  pleasing  task  of  com- 
menting upon  an  excellent  sonata 
of  Mr.  K.'s;  and  the  one  before 
us  has  again  excited  our  approba- 
tion to  such  a  degree,  that  we 
should,  taking  each  in  the  afrirre- 
gate,  feel  utterly  at  a  loss  to  which 
to  give  the  preference.  This  con- 
sists of  an  allegro  in  G  minor,  an 
adagio  in  E  b  major,  a  minuet  in 
G  minor,  and  a  rondo  in  G  major. 
All  these  movements  bear  the  stamp 
of  consummate  mastery  in  the  art, 
of  the  most  cultivated  taste,  ge- 
nuine originality,  and  the  richest 
store  of  compositorial  science;  in 
short,  the  work  before  us  is  of  a 
description  to  render  it  as  difficult 
to  say  too  much  in  its  praise,  as  to 
enumerate  its  manifold  excellen- 
cies, without  entering  into  a  detail 
that  would  in  all  probability  en- 
croach too  much  upon  the  patience 
of  our  readers.  One  single  page 
in  the  allegro,  such  as  p.  5  for  in- 
stance, would,  to  do  it  justice,  de- 
mand more  room  than  we  can  well 
allot  to  the  whole  work  in  our  ca- 
talogue ;  not  to  mention  the  exqui- 


206 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


site  adagio,  and  the  finely  wrought 
rondo.  In  cases  like  this,  we  have 
no  alternative  but  to  trust  to  the 
reliance  which  old  acquaintance 
entitles  us  to  liope  our  readers  place 
in  our  critical  veracity  and  impar- 
tiality, when  occasionally  our  ge- 
neral approbation  happens  to  lack 
of  individual  quotations  by  way  of 
evidence.  That  it  is  only  for  the 
sphere  of  niaiured  proficients  on 
the  instrument  tiiat  this  sonata  is 
calculated,  we  need  scarcely  add. 
HodsolPs  Co/ lection  of  Duets  for 
two  Performers  on  one  Piano- 
Forte.  No.  41.  Pr.  2s.  6d. 
This  number  of  the  above-men- 
tioned Collection  contains theover- 
ture  to  "Harlequin  and  Mother 
Goose,"  arranged  by  Mr.  Rimbault, 
which,  if  v.e  are  not  mistaken,  has 
been  brought  under  the  notice  of 
our  readers  in  an  early  number  of 
the  ReposiiOn/.  The  present  ar- 
rangement for  two  perlormers  ap- 
pears to  us  proper,  and  at  the  same 
time  suitable  for  performers  of  li- 
mited abilities. 

Emma's  Cot,  a  favourite  Song,  sung 
hy  Miss  Poole  at  the  Theatre  Roy- 
al Drunj-  Lane,  and  Miss  Davies 
at  the  Nohilitj/^s  Concerts,  composed 
by  Mr.  P.  Corri.     Pr.  Is.  6d. 
The  melody  of  this  little  ballad 
is   simple,  regular,   and    pleasing,  j 
much  in    the  style  of  Mr.  Hook's  | 
Jyric  compositions,  and  a  neat  ac-  i 
companiment  acts  in  support  of  it. 
Neither   the   latter    nor   the   vocal 
part  presentsany  difficulties  of  exe- 
cution.    The  circumstance  of  the 
last  line  in  the  verse  having  only 
six    syllables,    whereas   the   others 
consist  of  eight,  has  occasioned  a 
certain  degree  of  abrupt  termina- 
tion   in   the  melody  ;  because  the 
close,  which  in  the  preceding  pe- 


riods took  place  at  tiie  third  crotchet 
in  the  bar,  is  here  at  tl)e  first 
crotchet*  A  little  contrivance  on 
the  part  of  the  composer  might 
have  devised  a  proper  remedy. 
The  Lothian  Lassie,  a  favourite  Scotch 

Air,  arranged  as  a  Rondo  for  the 

Piano-Forte,  by  J.  F.  Burrowes. 

Pr.  2s.  6d. 

In  this  rondo  (in  F  major)  we  ob- 
serve that  general  style  of  propri- 
ety and  correct  expression  which 
we  have  had  occasion  to  notice  in 
other  works  of  the  same  author. 
The  Scotch  air  is  harmonized  in  a 
very  satisfactory  manner;  the  di- 
gressive matter  which  succeeds  in 
the  3d  page,  as  well  as  the  rest  of 
the  passages  throughout  the  work, 
is  natural,  fluent,  and  tasteful ;  the 
modulations  yj.  4,  especially  where 
they  dwell  in  minor  mood,  are  se- 
lect ;  and  a  pleasing  transition  leads 
to  the  theme  in  C,  p.  5,  from  which 
the  author  has  deduced  a  variety  of 
well-digested  and  interesting  ideas. 
Among  these  we  particularly  re- 
mark the  elegant  passages  that  re- 
present the  subject  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  7th  page  ;  and  the  con- 
clusion, J?.  8,  is  brought  about  not 
only  perfectly  in  character,  but 
with  great  neatness  and  judgment. 
What  adds  not  a  little  to  the  merit 
of  this  rondo,  is  that,  with  all  the 
active  eujplovment  of  both  hands, 
every  thing  lies  kindly  under  the 
fin5;ers. 
Three  IVuUzes,  zcith    Variations,  for 

two  Flutes, cornposedhy  L.  Drouet. 

Pr.  5s. 

The  first  of  these  waltzes  Mr.  D. 
states  to  be  a  Russian  dance  ;  the 
second  is  the  well-known  German 
lune  ^^Jch  du  tieher  yJugustine;'*  and 
the  third  appears  to  us  to  be  an 
Italian  monfrina^  to  which,  in  our 


ADVENTURES    Ol-    A    GREEK    LADY. 


£9? 


opinion,  a  ^  measure  would  better 
have  applied  than  |.  Without  ana- 
lyzing the  several  variatioiis  respec- 
tively reared  upon  these  themes, 
we  shall  generally  observe,  that 
their  mellow  fluency,  select  style, 
and  diversity  of  character,  entitle 
them  to  rank  highly  in  favour  with 
good  performers  on  the  flute.  It  is 
from  such  compositions  that  we  may 
liope  this  instrument  will  be  res- 
cued from  the  state  of  comparative 
neglect  into  which  it  has  sunk  in 
this  country,  with  amateurs  at  least. 
The  second  flute  in  these  waltzes 
is  particularly  eflective,  both  in 
point  of  harmony  and  with  regard 
to  active  execution. 


"  Saxe-Cvl)ourit,^^a  Rondo  fur  l/ie  Pi- 
ano- hurie,  compoaed  by  A.  Becz- 
warzowsky.  Pr.  Is.  6d. 
Mr.  Beczwarzowsky's  labour  is 
of  very  small  compass,  and  pre- 
sents nothing  new  or  recherche  in 
point  of  ideas  or  treatment:  but 
the  plain  fare  he  sets  before  us  lias 
the  merit  of  being  properly  dressed, 
so  as  to  be  wholesome  food  for  ju- 
venile subjects.  Proper  pieces  for 
beginners  are  less  frequently  to  be 
met  with  than  is  generally  imagin- 
ed. This  rondo  is  just  ii)e  kind  of 
music  we  would  recommend  to 
learners* 


•SaraBOKKSKO 


THE  SELECTOR: 

Consisting  of  tnterestjxg  Extracts  f rum  new  Popular 
Publications. 

ADVENTURES  OF  A  GREEK  LADY. 

CFrom    Tully's  Narrative  of  a  Residence  at  Tripoli.) 
(Concluded from  p.  2  10.) 


I'liF.  Armenian  merchant  went 
as  usual  to  the  bashaw's  on  business, 
and  took  with  him  bunches  of  pearls 
and  an  embroidered  Persian  web 
of  gold  and  silver  silk.  He  was 
admitted  to  the  preceptress  Ze- 
leuca,  as  soon  as  she  was  told  of 
some  great  purchases  to  be  made 
from  the  Turks,  who  were  prepa- 
ring for  their  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 
He  laid  before  her  the  pearls  and 
silks,  which  were  worth  many  hun- 
dred pataques,  and  when  he  had 
explained  to  her  at  what  price 
she  might  obtain  them,  namely, 
by  making  immediate  intercession 
with  the  bashaw  for  the  freedom  of 
the    Venetian   youth,  she   lost  no 

FoL  II.  N0.  XL 


time  in  endeavouring  to  possess 
ihem.  He  required  of  her,  tliat 
while  he  waited  she  should  in  form 
tile  bashaw,  a  ransom,  equal  to 
what  he  had  last  demanded  for  the 
Venetian,  was  ready  to  be  paid. 
He  told  her  he  had  not  tlie  courage 
to  apply  to  the  bashaw  himselfj 
having  been  so  often  put  off.  The 
Greek,  overjoyed  and  eager  to  ob- 
tain the  riches  that  lav  waitin<j  for 
her,  instantly  disappeared  to  re- 
turn in  a  few  moments.  The  -Ar- 
menian, by  sacrificing  a  sum  sufii- 
cient  to  make  up  the  n)oney  de- 
manded for  tiie  Venetian,  was  suf- 
ficiently sure  of  his  enhirgement 
without  the  help  of  Zeieuca;  but 
R  ft 


298 


ADVENTURES    OE  j^  ,(;MII^PK   LADY. 


it   was   not   her    interest,,with;  the 
bashaw,  hiit  her   absence,,, li^,^w|i;S, 
now   so    dearly   purchasing,     The 
Geor<i;ians  were  seated  at  their  em- 
broidery-frame.       The    Armenian, 
availed  himself  of  this  moment  to 
sb.ew  to  the  younger  of  the  two  her  : 
mother's  letter  open.     Her  agita- 
tion, her  tears,   her  screams  of  joy, 
confirmed   him  he  was  right.     He 
comforted  her;  he  assured  her  he 
should   soon  he  able  to  deliver  her 
and   her  sister  into   their  mother's 
arms,  if  the  unfortunate  agitation 
he   had    thrown   lier    into  did    not 
prevent  it.     He  told   her,  that  on 
her  prudence  and  dissimulation  all 
depended,  for  if  the  least  hint  was 
given  that  she  had   been  shewn   a 
letter,  the   hope    of  liberty  would 
be  over.     He  had  but  just  time  to 
say,  that  a  woman   from  his  sister 
would  be  the  next  person  she  should 
see,  when    Zeleuca  returned  with 
an  order  from  the   bashaw  for  the 
Venetian's  freedom  on  the  payment 
of  the  ransom. 

The  7\rmenian  now  opened  the 
silk  for  Zeleuca  to  inspect  it  more 
narrowly.  He  noticed  to  her  a 
considerable  damage  in  it,  appa- 
rently, as  he  said,  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  packing  (a  gold  flower 
was  entirely  defaced) ;  buthewoAild 
send  her  a  Greek,  an  adept  in  the 
Persian  work,  who  would  com- 
pletely replace  it:  Zeleuca  was 
delighted.  Two  days  after  the 
bashaw  had  set  out  on  his  journey, 
the  Armenian's  sister,  as  eager  as 
hinjself  to  restore  the  peace  of  this 
unhappy  faniily,  engaged  one  of 
her  women,  a  faitliful  domestic 
who  had  been  with  her  many  years, 
to  go  as  a  sempstress  to  Zeleuca. 
This  commission  was  received  with 
joy  by  Acassia  from  her  mistress, 


foji;^4;h^,eyeqts  of  her  oa^i  life  had, 
beetp  su,cl^,j  ^s J;o  make  her  anxious 
on  all  occasions  to  shew  her  grati- 
tude and  luve  to  the  family  witU 
whom  she  lived . 

Acassia   now  went  to    Zeleuca^ 
and    conveyed    to    the    Georgians- 
sufficient  attire  for  their  disguise. 
She  took  the  advantage  of  the  time 
of  day  during  which,  in  that  part 
of  the  world,  chiefs   and  servants 
universally  retire  and  indulge  them- 
selves in  repose;  and  while  Zeleu- 
ca was  sleeping,  Acassia  conducted 
the  trembling   Georgian*  through 
a  private  door  into  the  street.     Oj» 
their   arrival    at    the    Armenian's 
house,  he  immediately  left  it,  and 
went  to  the  bashaw's  palace,  before 
Zeleuca  or  the  Mamaluke  had  time 
to  cause  a  public  alarm  to  be  made- 
for  their  master's  loss.     He  found 
Zeleuca,   as   he  expected,  iu    the 
greatest  consternation,  but  he  ea- 
sily prevailed   on  her  and  the  Ma- 
!  maluke  to  be  pacified,  by  his  pro- 
i  fessions     to    serve   them    and    his 
[  ability  to  do  so.     He  wrote  in  their 
{!  presence  to  their  master,  pleading 
j  their  excuse   for   having    been   so 
unfortunate  in    their  duty,  and  in- 
Ibrmed    the    bashaw    of    (what   he  . 
termed)    the  unexpected    circum- 
stance  of   the    Georgians   havii^g 
escaped  to  his  house.     He  told  him 
of  the  sums   lately  remitted  froui 
the  states  of  Venice  for  their  y^r 
demption,  and  to  what  amount  he 
would  assist  their  afflicted  mother 
in  further  augmenting  those  sums. 
He  entreated  the  bashaw  to  accept 
the  gold   for  the  two  slaves,  why 
Vvere  never  likely  to  make  him  abet- 
ter return.     The  Armenian,   fpoDi 
long  experience,  had  formed  so  jusjt 
an  idea  of  this  Turk's  predilectipq 
for  riches,  that  if  tiie  bashaw  doubjLt 


"LONDON   FASHIONS. 


299 


cd  the  truth  of  any  part  of  the'ac- 
coutit  given  him,  he  reconciled 
the  loss  of  his  fair  slaves  by  the 
unexpected  wealth  that  loss  pro- 
ducd  him.  "^'^"  =^"^  ''-f'' 

The  Armenian,  during  the  short 
period  of  these  events,  had  sacri- 
ficed one  quarter  of  his  whole  for- 
tune, for  which  he  thought  himself 
repaid  with  the  hand  and  affections 
of  the  younger  of  thet?\V6"bWulies, 
and  the  extreme  satisfaction  of 
bestowing  the  elder  on  his  Vene- 
tian friend.  He  pictured  to  him- 
self, also, the  cheerful  acquiescence 
of  their  n)other  in  his  plan  for 
happiness;  nor  was  he  mistaken: 
with  grateful  joy  she  saw  him  dis- 
pose of  her  children,  in  a  manner 
so  consonant  to  their  wishes  and 
her  own. 

The  Venetian,  by  the  conse- 
quence of  his  family,  had  the  in- 
terest to  obtain  an  appointment  in 


the  diplomatic  line  very  soon  after 
his  marriage  with  the  fair  Jaliana. 
Manj^  years  after  they  were  mar- 
ried, on  account  of  the  ravages  of 
the  plague  in  Africa,  he  over- ruled 
the  affectionate  scruples  of  his  wife, 
and  persuaded  her  to  leave  him  for 
a  time  with  their  only  daughter,  a 
most  beautiful  girl,  whose  talents 
in  Europe  acquired  all  possible 
lustre  from  the  first  style  of  edu- 
cation. She  was  married  with  every 
advantage  her  affectionate  mother 
could  wish,  and  they  both  at  pre- 
sent make  an  invaluable  part  of 
our  society. 

The   mother   of  Signora   S- 


was  spared  the  horrid  account  of 
her  little  infant's  fate.  She  wais 
always  humanely  deceived  with  the 
assertion  of  its  having  died  a  na- 
tural death,  owing  to  the  hardships 
of  the  journey  in  the  first  day  after 
her  family  was  torn  from  her. 


?u"jq  .'.ii. 


FASHIONS, 


—^^!f>^— 


PL.VTE  28. —  MORNING    DRESS. 

A  ROUND  dress,  coinjiosed  of 
cambric;  the  skirt  is  finished  at 
bottom  by  four  rows  of  rich  em- 
broidery and  two  Hoiinces  of  work  ; 
it  is  very  full  ;  and  the  body,  which 
is  a  c/ietuise(te,  has  also  considerable 
fulness  thrown  behind.  The  body 
is  made  up  to  the  throat,  and  trim- 
med at  the  neck  with  a  double  frill 
of  rich  work  :  it  is  made  very  full  | 
behind,  but  plain  in  Iront.  A  louij;  i 
loose  sleeve,  finished  at  the  wrist 
by  three  puffings  and  a  single  fall 
of  narrow  work.  Head-dress  a 
morning  cornette,  composed  of  fine 
clear  muslin,  with  a  border  to  cor- 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 

respond.     The  form  of  this  cornel te 


is  uncommonly  novel  and  striking  ; 
the  crown  is  ornamented,  something 
in  the  style  of  a  turban,  with  rolls 
of  muslin,  and  finisiied  at  the  top 
by  a  bow  of  straw-colonred  ribbon. 
Gloves  and  sandals  of  straw  colour. 
A  new  pattern  silk  handktrcliief 
thrown  carelessly  over  the  shoul- 
ders, completes  the  dress. 

PLATF.  20. —  EVENING    DRESS. 

A  lilac  and  white  stripeil  gauze 
dress  over  a  white  satin  slip;  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt  is  ornamented 
with  five  rows  of  white  silk  trim- 
ming, of  a  very  light  and  elegant 
description  :  it  has  just  been  intro- 
}l  R  2 


300 


GENEUAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND    DRESS. 


diiced,  and  the  pattern  has  more 
novelty  than  any  thiiif.^  we  have 
seen  for  some  time:  a  single  flounce 
of  deep  blond  lace  comj^letes  the 
trimming.  The  bodv  is  also  very 
novel;  the  upper  part  is  formed  of 
lace,  and  the  lower  of  gauze,  to 
correspond  with  the  dress:  the  lat- 
ter is  quite  tight  to  the  shape,  but 
the  former  has  an  easy  fulness, 
which  forms  the  shape  in  a  manner 
extremely  advantageous  to  the 
figure.  The  sleeve  is  short  and 
very  full;  it  is  composed  of  lace, 
looped  high,  and  finished  by  a 
trimming  to  correspond  with  that 
on  tl  e  skirt.  The  hair  is  full  dress- 
ed, without  any  ornament.  Neck- 
lace, cross,  armlets,  and  bracelets 
of  rubies.  White  satin  slippers, 
^nd  white  kid  gloves. 


GENERAL    OBSIi RVATIONS    ON 
FASHION    AND    DRESS. 

The  month  of  November  ought, 
if  we  were  guided  by  the  seasons, 
to  enable  us  to  present  our  fair 
readers  with  a  splendid  display  of 
winter  costume,  but  every  body 
knows  that  the  winter  of  Fashion 
does  not  commence  till  January: 
some  changes,  indeed,  must  take 
place  in  fashionable  habiliments 
before  that  period,  but  they  are  re- 
gulated more  by  convenience  or 
whim  than  by  the  mandate  of  Fa- 
shion; and  of  this  nature  are  the 
few  alterations  which  we  have  to 
announce  since  last  month. 

For  the  walking  costume  pe- 
lisses are  very  general ;  they  are 
composed  of  cloth  or  velvet,  and 
lined  with  sarsnet:  white  appears 
the  predominant  colour  for  linings. 
Satin  IS  almost  the  only  trimming 
made  use  of.  We  have  not  no- 
ticed any  striking  alteration  in  the 


form  of  pelisses  ;  they  appear  to 
be  made  fuller  in  the  skirt  than 
last  season,  and  the  sleeves  are  not 
so  wide,  but  the  bodies  remain 
nearly  tiie  same. 

Poplin  and  sarsnet  are  also  much 
used  for  tiie  walking  costume :  dark 
brown,  purple,  and  bottle-green 
are  the  predominating  colours, 
These  dresses  are  all  made  high, 
but  without  collars:  a  little  fulness 
is  generally  thrown  into  the  backs; 
but  the  fronts  are  tight  to  the 
shape,  and  are  sloped  on  each  side, 
to  display  ihejichu.  The  trinmiing, 
which  is  generally  composed  of  the 
sanie  materials  as  the  dressj  is  a 
deep  flounce,  with  a  heading,  which 
is  scolloped  and  bound  with  nar- 
row ribbon.  A  shawl  is  an  indis- 
pensable appendage  to  this  dress  ; 
the  most  fashiojiable  at  present  are 
our  imitations  of  India  :  some  la- 
dies, however,  prefer  rich  silk  ones, 
the  middle  of  which  corresponds 
with  their  dress,  and  the  border  is 
richly  embroidered  in  colours. 

Straw  and  Leghorn  bonnets, 
trimmed, rt/fl  Francoisey  with  bunch- 
esof  winter  flowers, arestill  worn  by 
some  elegantes;  but  black  straw,  or 
velvet  to  suit  the  colour  of  the 
dress,  is  more  general :  these  lat- 
ter are  alvva3's  ornamented  with 
feathers. 

Bonnets  of  the  French  shape  are 
universal  in  the  walking  costume, 
but  we  have  contrived  to  anglicize 
them  till  very  little  of  their  original 
appearance  remains  :  as  it  is,  they 
are  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other  ; 
they  have  neither  the  chaste  sim- 
plicity for  which  our  English  walk- 
ing bonnets  used  to  l)e  remarkable, 
nor  X.\\e  jaunt.ee  air  of  those  worn; 
by  well-dressed  French  belles. 

In  the  carriaGre  costume  sarsnet 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


:iOl 


pelisses  are  still  much  worn  ;  they 
are  what  the  French  call  levan- 
tiiie,  of  the  stoutest  texture  antl 
twilled:  sorue  with  satin  stripes 
are  peculiarly  heautit'nl;  they  are 
triuimec!,  in  general,  with  swans- 
down,  aiul  worn  either  with  a  swans- 
down  tippet,  or  a  sniall  India  or  silk 
scarf  lietl  round  tlie  throat.  W'e 
saw  one  the  other  day  composed  of 
pale  lavender  levantine,  lined  with 
white  sarsnet,  and  trimmed  with 
swansdown.  The  hat  worn  with  it 
was  one  of  the  most  elei^ant  we 
have  ever  seen  ;  it  was  composed  of 
wlute  spotted  velvet,  turned  up  in 
front,  or  rather,  we  should  say,  all 
round  the  front,  and  lined  with 
satin.  The  crown  is  rather  hi<rh, 
and  fancifully  decorated  with  puff- 
ings of  intermingled  white  satin 
and  hlond  :  a  plume  of  white  fea- 
thers, tipped  with  lilac,  ornaments 
it  in  front.  We  have  not  seen  so 
tastelul  a  hat  for  some  tiu)e. 

Late  as  it  is  in  tiie  season,  morn- 
ing dresses  continue  to  be  still 
made  in  muslin  :  they  are  rather 
less  trimmed  tiiaii  they  have  been 
for  some  time,  uhicli  is  the  only 
change  that  has  taken  place. 

Sarsnet  and  spotted  silk  are  very 
general  in  dinner  dress;  we  tliink 
the  levantine  predominates.  The 
bodies  of  ditmer  dresses  are  now  in- 
variably of  the  same  inaterial  as  the 
skirt,  but  the  sleeves  are  generally 
white;  they  are  composed  either  of 
patent  net  or  of  clear  muslin,  rich- 
ly let  in  with  lace.  IMain  long 
sleeves  are  universal;  they  are  fi- 
nished at  the  wrist  as  described  in 
our  last  number.  Gowns  are  still 
cut  very  low,  and,  in  general, orna- 
mented with  a  pelerine  of  lace; 
and  we  have  much  pleasure  in  say- 
ing, that  7^. J'chu  iorms  an  indispen- 
sable part  of  dinner-dress. 


We  must,  however,  observe,  that 
muslin,  though  not  so  generally 
worn  as  silk,  is  still  adopted  by 
some  citirantes.  Sprigged  muslin, 
the  bosom  and  sleeves  trinuned 
with  lace,  and  the  skirts  decorated 
with  puffings  of  clear  muslin,  with 
rosettes  of  coloured  ribbon  between 
each  puffing,  are  in  some  estima- 
tion ;  there  are  generall}'  three  rows 
of  these  puffings  placed  at  about 
half  a  quarter  distance  from  each 
other.  We  were  much  pleased  with 
this  trimming;  though  very  sim- 
ple, it  has  an  air  of  novelty,  and  is 
really  tasteful  and  pretty. 

Thevery  elegant  full  dress  which 
we  have  presented  to  our  readers 
in  our. print,  is  the  only  actual  no- 
velty which  we  have  to  announce. 

In  half-dress  jewellerv,  coral  al- 
ready begins  to  make  its  appear- 
ance. 

In  full-dress  jewellery,  we  have 
noticed  a  beautiful  ornament  for 
tlie  hair;  it  is  a  butterfly  in  dia- 
monds; it  is  placed  in  the  middle 
of  the  forehead,  and  worn  without 
any  other  ornament.  The  effect 
of  this  brilliant  and  novel  orna- 
ment, particularly  upon  dark  hair, 
is  uncommonly  beautiful  and  stri- 
king. 

Wreaths  of  winter  flowers  are 
very  much  worn  in  full  dress;  but 
instead  of  being  placed  at  the 
back  of  the  l«ead,  they  are  now 
brought  round  the  hair  in  front. 
Bouquets  of  winter  flowers  are  also 
much  worn,  placed  a  little  to  the 
side. 

The  hair,  both  in  full  and  half- 
dress,  is  worn  much  lower  than  it 
has  been  for  many  months  back  : 
in  the  latter, cy;;/ef/e.s  are  universal- 
ly adopted,  but  we  have  seen  no- 
thing new  since  last  month. 

In  full  dress  the  hair  is  worn  in 


5fti 


FliENCIi    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


irgbt  loose'  ctivk  oh  the  forehead  ; 
it  is  parted  in  tlie  middle,  but  the 
curls  do  not  fall  very  low  at  the 
sides.  The  hind  hair  is  turned 
smoothly  ud  in  one  larsfe  bow: 
sometimes  the  ends  are  brought 
<lown,  and  form  a  row  of  full  curls 
m  the  back  of  the  neck. 

For  the  walking  costume,  colour- 


I  ed    leather   stout-soled    halT-bobt'^ 

are  universal.     Sandals  of  coloured 

I  leather,   stout  silk,   or   velvet,  are 

most  general  in  carriage-dress. 

Fans  still  continue  the  same  size. 

Fashionablecolours  for  the  month 

are,    purple    geranium,    brown    of 

different  shades,  and  dark  green. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  October  17. 
My  dear  Sophia, 

Late  as  it  is  in  the  season, 
our  promenade  dresses  are  invaria- 
bly composed  of  white :  perkale  is 
in  high  estimation,  as  are  also  plain 
and  sprigged  India  muslins.  The 
present  form  of  promenade  dress 
is  very  simple  :  a  gown  made  very 
full  in  the  skirt,  and  of  a  length 
which  suffers  the  foot  only  to  be 
visible,  ornamented  with  perhaps 
twenty  tucks,  and  trimmed  with  a 
single  flounce  at  bottom  ;  the  body 
cut  very  low  all  round  the  bust, 
and  made  to  fit  the  shape  exactly; 
the  back  a  moderate  breadth,  com- 
posed of  a  piece  of  muslin  laid  on 
in  plaits  at  each  side,  and  which 
crosses  at  the  bottom  of  the  waist ; 
the  fronts  sloping  down  on  each 
side  of  the  bosom,  and  just  meet- 
ing before.  If  the  sleeve  is  long, 
it  has  very  little  fulness;  it  is 
tightened  to  the  wrist  by  two  or 
three  gaugings,  which  are  placed 
at  some  distance  from  each  other, 
and  it  is  finished  b^-  a  narrow  frill 
of  lace  or  work.  Ajichu  of  muslin 
or  tid/e,  made  in  the  form  of  a  ha- 
bit-shirt, with  a  little  fulness  in  i 
the  fronts,  and  in  general  a  row  of 
letting-in  lace  on  each  shoulder. 
Such  is  the  present  favourite  form, 
and  I  really  do  not  know  any  style 


of  dress  more  calculated  to  display^ 
to  advantage  a  good  figure ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  sets  defects 
in  the  most  glaring  light.  I  had 
forgot  to  observe,  that  the  waists 
are  perfectly  Grecian. 

Our  promenade  costume  has'kt' 
present  an  uniformity  which  fa- 
tigues the  eye,  not  on  account  of 
white  dresses  only,  but  because 
belles  of  all  ages  now  appear  in 
square  shawls;  go  where  you  will 
you  see  nothing  else.  Ladies  of 
the  highest  rank  wear  those  of 
Cashmere,  but  as  their  price  is  im- 
mense, those  of  French  manufac- 
ture are  of  course  much  more  ge- 
neral :  they  are  worn  in  scarlet, 
royal  purple,  orange,  lavender,  and 
dark  green  ;  the  middle  plain,  and 
the  border  very  rich.  French  la- 
dies laugh  at  our  formal  taste,  but 
in  this  instance,  I  think,  we  have 
the  laugh  against  them. 

I  must,  however,  make  an  exctep'-i 
tion   in  favour   of  the  transparent 
silk  shawls,  some  of  which  are  or-- 
namented  with   borders  of  natural 
flowers  in  superb  embroidery  ;  they 
are  really  beautiful,  but  certainly 
not  calculated  for  the  time  of  year: ;; 
however,  the  season  is  the  last  thldg''^ 
a  Frenchwoman  considers.  ■  '-^^ 

English    coloured    muslins    ar&* 
very  much  in  request  for  moriiiflg 


FUExNCH    rF.MALE  FASHIONS. 


303^ 


•I-  hair  dress.  The  c/icniiaclte  form 
still  prevaiLs.  "^rhe  skin  is  trimqied 
round  the  hottou)  with  either  two 
or  three  narrow  ilouiices  of  the 
sanic  material  as  the  drtss,  which 
are  put  on  very  full,  and  sometimes 
scolloptcl :  they  are  much  worn 
open  in  i'roiu  lor  morning  dress, 
and  when  that  is  the  case,  the  cam- 
bric slip  underneath  is  trimmed 
either  with  work  or  lace  round  the 
bottom.  The  body  is  made  high, 
and  with  a  small  standing  collar, 
which  is  rounded  before  so  as  to 
discover  the  throat.  The  back  is 
Very  lull,  but  the  front  is  quite 
plain  over  the  bust,  and  full  only 
at  the  bottom  of  the  waist.  The 
body  is  sewed  to  a  very  narrow 
band  of  the  same  material  as  the 
dress,  to  whicli  the  skirt  is  also 
fastened.  1  know  not  whether  I 
have  ever  observed  to  you,  that  in 
this  respect  the  fashion  here  is 
more  convenient  than  with  you,  as 
the  bodies  of  dresses  are  never 
made  separate.  A  plain  long  sleeve 
completes  the  dress,  if  for  morn- 
ing ;  but  if  for  half  dress,  the  gown, 
as  I  have  observed,  is  closed  in 
front,  the  long  sleeve  ornauiented 
on  the  shoulder  l)y  a  d(juble  fall 
of  muslin  put  on  very  full,  and  so 
contrived  as  to  form  a  pretty  little 
jauntee  half-sleeve;  and  the  body, 
instead  of  being  high,  is  cut  low, 
the  fulness  at  top  as  well  as  bottom 
of  the  waist  being  confined  by  a 
band. 

Muslin  is  the  only  thing  worn  in 
dinner-dress.  I  havejust  seen  one 
which  I  beg  you   will  describe  to 

your  aunt  S ;   for,  if  she  is  as 

fond  as  she  used  to  be  of  a  great 
deal  of  neat  work  in  her  dresses,  it 
will  just  suit  her.  The  form  is  the 
aaaie  «is   I  have  described  for  the 


pronjenadc,  c>:ce|)t  that  the  body 
and  sleeves  are  tucked  to  corre- 
spond with  the  bottom  of  tlie  dress  : 
these  tucks,  or  rather  plaits,  are  of 
course  small,  and  are  placed  very 
thick  across  the  body  and  sleeves ; 
the  dress  has  no  other  trimming. 
You,  my  dear  Sophra,  will,  I  dare 
say,  think  this  dress  formal,  but  as 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  work  in  it, 

I   have  no  doubt  Mrs.  S will 

like  it.  The  prettiest  dinner-dress 
I  have  seen  was  one  worn  by  the 
Duchess  de  Berri,  whose  style  of 
dress  can  never  fail  to  please, 
because  it  is  at  once  simple  and 
becoming.  ,f([ 

A  round  dress  of  clear  muslin, 
trimmed  at  the  bottom  with  a  full 
flounce  of  broad  lace,  above  which 
is  a  narrow  embroidery,  and  that  is 
surmounted  by  a  row  of  while  satin 
puffings  let  in  at  regular  distances  j 
over  the  puffings  is  another  row  of 
lace,  above  which  is  a  row  of  work, 
and  over  that  a  second  row  of  puf- 
fings. The  body  of  the  dress  iji 
made  as  I  have  described  in  the 
promenade  costume,  but  confined 
to  the  waist  by  a  white  satin  sash, 
which  is  finished  by  a  triple  full  of 
lace  at  the  ends.  A  single  row  of 
pointed  lace  forms  a  very  j)retty 
standing  kind  of  pelerine,  and 
slightly  shades  the  bosom.  A  long 
sleeve,  embroidered  down  the  mid- 
dle of  the  arm,  and  ornamented  at 
each  side  of  the  embroidery  with 
white  satin  puffings:  by  the  way, 
those  puffings  resemble  the  slashes 
worn  on  the  Spanish  dresses,  only 
that  they  are  much  smaller.  You 
would  be  delighted  with  the  tout- 
ensemble  o(  ili'is  dress,  which  is  in  a 
style  of  chaste  elegance  not  gene- 
rally seen  here.  '^ 

^^'hite  satin  is  in   very  generai 


50-i 


FltEIN^CH    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


estimation  for  full  dress;  those  la- 
dies who  affect  simplicity  trim  it 
only  with  two  or  three  very  narrow 
pipings  of  byas  velvet  round  the 
bust  and  the  bottom  of  the  train. 
A  short  full  sleeve  composed  of 
three  pieces  of  satin,  each  edged 
with  pipings  to  correspond,  is  fast- 
ened up  tastefully  enough  with  a 
brilliant  buckle  or  clasp  in  front. 
Blond  still  continues  in  estioiation 
for  trimmings  ;  it  is  much  worn  laid 
on  in  waves,  which  are  fastened  up 
with  sprigs  of  heart's-easeor  orange 
blossoms  :  but  the  material  most  in 
request  for  full  dress  among  juve- 
nile e/ega;i^es,  is  tulle;  it  is  worn 
over  white  satin.  The  favourite 
trimming  is  a  rich  embroidery  of 
orange-blossoms  in  silver  round  the 
bottom  of  tile  dress-  The  sleeves 
are  blond  over  white  satin,  divided 
into  three  compartments  Ijy  strings 
of  pearl  :  the  bosom  is  also  trim- 
med with  blond.  These  dresses 
are  extremely  elegant,  and  much 
in  request  with  such  of  our  coun- 
trywomen as  adopt  the  French  fa- 
shions. 

The  hair  is  still  worn  very  high 
both  in  full  and  half  dress.  Some 
few  weeks  ago  our  elegantes  wore 
their  hair  in  full  dress  a /a  Romaine, 
and  carried  this  classic  mania  to  a 
height  that  was  often  ridiculous. 
At  j)resent  fashionable  heads  are 
half  Roman  half  Chinese.  You 
will  laugh  at  this  description,  but 
I  am  really  serious  ;  the  hind  hair 
is  arranged  in  the  manner  of  the 
former,  and  the  front  in  that  of  the 
latter :  there  are  indeed  a  few  hellea, 
who  will  not  sacrifice  good  taste  at 
the  shrine  of  Fashion,  who  still 
persist  in  wearing  a  few  liglit  ring- 
lets on  each  side  of  the  forehead  ; 
■  but  these  ladies,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
are  few  in  number. 


It  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  fea- 
thers or  flowers  predominate  at  pre- 
sent in  full  dress.  Tocques  are  also 
in  higii  estimation  ;  they  are  com- 
posed of  gauze,  crape,  blond,  and 
sometimes  of  tulle.  I  should  ob- 
serve, that  white  satin  is  always 
intermixed  with  either  of  these  ar- 
ticles. There  is  nothing  very  no- 
vel in  the  form  of  tocques:  they  are 
not,  I  thinkj  worn  quite  so  high  as 
ti)ey  were,  nor  are  they  so  loaded 
with  flowers  or  feathers;  they  are 
frequently  ornamented  with  sprigs 
of  rubies,  diamonds,  or  pearls  ;  and 
coral,  though  by  no  means  appro- 
priated to  full  dress,  is  in  consi- 
derable estimation. 

Coloured  stones  are  much  worn 
in  full-dress  jewellery  ;  pearl  neck- 
laces, witli  crosses  or  lockets  of 
rubies,  emeralds,  &c.  are  in  much 
estimation.  Coral  is  worn  both  in 
full  and  half  dress,  but  we  see  no 
gold  ornaments,  except  chains. 

T  cry  you  mercy,  my  Sophia! 
I  perceive  that  I  have  omitted  the 
most  important  part  of  my  descrip- 
tions; I  mean  hats  and  bonnets. 
Those  worn  in  the  morning  are 
called  capotes,  and  are  made  inva- 
riably of  muslin.  As  it  would  be 
impossible  to  describe  the  endless 
variety  one  sees,  I  shall  confine 
myself  to  two  :  one,  composed  of 
cambric  muslin,  has  a  large  round 
front ;  the  muslin  is  laid  on  full, 
and  drawn  in  round  the  edge,  where 
it  is  gauged  aboutan  inch  ;  the  mid- 
dle of  the  crown  is  also  composed 
of  muslin  laid  on  full,  with  a  row 
of  gauging  next  to  the  front,  and 
another  next  to  the  caul,  which  is 
of  an  uncommon  height,  and  tack- 
ed in  very  full ;  a  half-handkerchief, 
richlyembroidered,is  pinned  across 
the  caul,  and  the  ends  tie  under  the 
chin.     The  other  favourite  morn- 


AI^  Eir&ILISM     BE]D> 


FASHIONABLE    Fl'IlNlTURE. 


305 


ing  l>onnet  is  composed  of  worked 
muslin,  and  finished  by  three  rows 
oi  narrow  lace,  put  one  ahove  ano- 
ther round  tlie  edge  of  the  front: 
the  crown  is  of  a  very  moderate 
height;  it  is  also  fastened  under 
tlie  chin  by  a  handkerchief,  which 
is  trimmed  with  lace. 

For  the  promenade,  Leghorn, 
straw,  straw  intermixed  with  rib- 
bon, and  gros  de  Naples,  are  all 
worn.  They  are  of  a  moderate 
height,  the  fronts  large,  and  instead 
of  going  off  at  the  ears,  tl)eycome 
down  quite  low  at  the  sides;  they 
stick  out  behind  a  good  deal,  and 
turn  up  a  little,  but  yet  altogether 
I  think  them  the  most  becoming  I 
liave  yet  seen  :  they  are  frequently 
worn  without  lining.  If  ornament- 
ed with  feathers,  there  are  some- 
times as  many  as  five  placed  up- 


right ;  if  flowers,  a  pretty  large 
bunch  is  placed  to  one  side.  CMii- 
na  asters,  lilacs,  hyacinths,  lilies, 
jonquils,  and  roses,  are  all  worn. 
I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you,  that 
crape,  tui/e,  white  satin,  and  gauze 
hats  are  all  in  high  estimation  lor 
the  promenade.  This  will  not  sur- 
prise you,  when  you  recollect,  that 
ladies  appear  in  full  dress  in  the 
promenade,  and  all  their  public 
gardens  in  this  respect  resemble 
our  Vauxhall. 

The  most  fashionable  colours  at 
present  are,  royal  purple,  scarlet, 
orange,  lavender,  and  dark  green. 

Adieu,  my  dear  Sophia!  1  am 
interrupted,  fortunately  for  yon, 
and  havt  only  time  to  tell  you,  what 
indeed  you  have  long  known,  that 
I  am  always  your 

EUDOCIA. 


FASHIONABLE 

PLATE    26.-^AN 

Thk  drawing  for  this   plate  was  |! 
taken    by    permission    of    Mr.    G.  | 
Bullock,  in  whose  manufactory  the  j 
design    was  executed,  and   it   was  '' 
selected  for  the  tasteful  simi}licity 
that  pervades  it.      The  abandon- 
ment of  that  profusion  of  drapery 
which   has  long  been  fashionable, 
has  admitted  this  more  chastened 
style  in    point  of  forms,  and    has 


FURNITURE. 

ENGLISH    Br,D. 

introduced  a  richness  in  point 
of  colours  that  has  long  been  neg- 
lected. This  splendid  character, 
if  followed  with  discretion,  will 
speedily  supersede  the  [)resent  cold 
and  cheerless  effect  of  our  apart- 
ments, which  have  little  pretension 
to  the  term  embellished  until  the 
furniture  is  placed  within  them. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITER 

Mr.  Ackermann  is  preparing  || 
for  publication  a  highly  interesting  || 
work,  representing  the  Costumes  of '. 
the  United  ISetherlands,  IVom  thirty  ' 
original  drawings  made  on  the  spot,  ll 
with  letter-press  in  English  and  ' 
French.  !' 

nr  II.  No.  XI.  i 


ARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &r 

Mr.  Ackermann  also  anniMjnrr^i 
to  the  public,  that  early  in  Novem- 
ber will  be  ready  for  delivery,  the 
whole-length  Portrait  of  II.  R.  H. 
the  Princess  Charlotte  of  Wales 
and  Saxe- Coburg-Saalfeld,  en- 
graved by  Meyer,  from  the  picture 
S  s 


306 


INTELLIGENCE,    LITEKARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


by  A.  E.  Chaloii,  R.  A.  It  will 
formacoiiipaiiioii  prir.t  to  the  much- 
admired  Likeness  of  H.  S.  H.  Prince 
Leopold  l)y  the  same  artists;  it  is 
ackno\vleilL;ed  to  l)e  a  most  perfect 
resemblance,  and  has  received  the 
approbation  of  the  whole  of  the 
iloyal  Family. 

Mr.  Tiiielcke  is  engraving  a  set 
of  Six  Prints,  to  be  jjublish.ed  by 
subscription,  from  designs  of  her 


Poland,  for  whose  use  it  wa^  com- 
posed. 

The  llev.  Sir  Adam  Gordon  will 
soon  publish  an  enlarged  edition 
of  his  Sermons  on  the  Homilies  of 
the  Churchy  in  two  8vo.  volumes. 

Memorial  Sketches  of  the  tele  Bet. 
David  Broun,  of  Calcutta,  with 
Sermons  by  him,  are  printing  in 
one  volume. 

The  Rev.  Samuel  Hardy,  author 


Royal  HiglmessPriiicessElizabeth,  :  of  the  Lifeof  Skelton,  has  under- 
under  the  immediate  patronage  oi  i  taken  a  Compendium  of  the  History 


her  Majesty  and  the  Royal  Faiwily  : 
they  will  be  ready  for  delivtry  in 
the  early  part  of  December. 

Poems  by  Miss  D,  P.  Campbell, 
of  Zetland,  now  publishing  in  Lon- 
don by  subscription,  will  be  ready 


of  Irelaiid. 

A  gentleman  of  Gray's  Inn  has 
issued  proposals  for  publishing  by 
subscription,  a  new  edition  of  Tuo 
Dialogues,  in  English,  between  a 
Doctor  of  Divinity  and  a  Student  of 


for  deliver}-  in  tlie  beginning  of  the  Lazes  of  England,  of  the  Grounds 
next  month.  An  interesting  notice  I  of  the  said  Laws  and  of  Conscience, 
of    this    amiable   but    unfortunate     written  by  Christopher  St,  Germyuj 


young  woman  was  given  in  the  Li- 
terary Intelligence  of  our  last  num- 
ber. 

Mr.  Ryan,  who  lately  obtained  a 
premium  of  100  guineas  and  the 
gold  medal  of  the  Society  of  Arts, 
for  his  new  system  of  ventilating 
coal-mines,  has  in  the  [)ress  A  Trea- 
tise on  Mining  and  Ventilation,  em- 
bracing in  a  particular  manner  the 
subject  of  the  coal-stratification  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland. 

Mr.  Foster  is  collecting  subjects 
for  an  intended  work  on  the  Gene- 
ric Forms  of  the  Crania  of  Animals, 
We  beg  leave  to  recommend  to 
bis  attention  the  work  of  Dr.  Spix, 
of  which  a  brief  account  uas  given 
in  our  last  number,  as  likely  to 
abridge  his  labour  very  materially. 
The  Rev.  T.  Rees  will  shortly  pub- 
lish his  translation  of  \.\\e  liacovi/m 
Catechism,  with  a  sketch  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  Unitarian  Churches  of 


and  first  published  in  1523;  with 
commentaries  and  notes,  partly 
original  and  partly  compiled. 

Dr.  Ilughson,  author  of  the  His- 
tory of  London,  has  commenced  a 
work  under  the  title  of  Walks 
through  London,  including  West- 
minster and  Southwark,  with  the 
surrounding  suburbs;  describing 
every  thing  worthy  of  observation^ 
and  forming  a  complete  guide  to 
the  British  metropolis.  It  will  be 
comprised  in  twelve  monthly  num- 
bers, each  containing  eight  engra- 
vings. 

The  increasing  popular  favour 
which  Malvern  is  justly  acquiring, 
from  t!ie  salubiity  of  the  air,  and 
I  the  universally  healing  qualities  of 
I  its  waters,  uhich  were  brought  into 
notice  by  Drs.  Wall,  Phillip,  &c. 
the  bea.uty  oof  i  ii>^  t  walks  and  rides^ 
the  antiquity  of  its  church,  and  nu- 
merous otii,er claims  to  noiicej.;have 


INTLLLICr.NCE,    LITETIATIY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


307 


induced  a  gentleman  resident  near 
tlie  place,  to  make  collections  for 
a  History  of  Great  and  lAttle  Mal- 
vern. Tliese,  bein«;  at  lenutli  ar- 
ranjjfed,  he  proposes  to  publish  in 
a  handsome  octavo  volume,  embel- 
lished with  designs  by  artists  of  ce- 
lebrity. Whilst  the  author  will  not 
failtoavail  himself  of  the  aid  of  rare 
and  expensive  publications,  he  is 
enabled  to  promise  much  interest- 
ing miscellaneous  original  matter 
i'rom  observation  and  authentic 
sources,  so  that  the  work  will  form 
altogetlicr  a  complete  historical, 
statistical,  mineralogical,  chemi- 
cal, and  general  account  of  Great 
and  Little  Malvern,  and  a  useful 
guide  through  the  terrestrial  para- 
dise in  which  they  are  situated. 

Mr.  Churchill  is  preparing  for 
the  ])ress  Corrections  and  jIddition<i 
to  Rees^s  Ci/c/op(cdia,  "which  will 
extend  to  the  whole  of  that  volu- 
minous work,  and  be  printed  in  the 
same  size  and  type,  so  as  to  form  a 
proper  and  necessary  companion 
to  it. 

Lord  Byron  has  completed  a 
second  part  of  his  celebrated  poem 
of  Childc  Harold,  the  copyright  of 
which,  as  we  understand,  has  been 
purchased  by  Mr.  Murray  at  the 
price  of  2.500/. 

The  Rev.  Richard  Warner,  of 
Bath,  has  in  the  press,  yl  Series  of 
Sermons  for  every  Sunday  in  the 
year,  including  Christmas-day  and 
Good  Friday,  for  the  use  of  fami- 
lies and  country  congregations, 
and  adapted  to  the  condition  of  the 
lower  orders  of  society.  A  ]irefa- 
tory  ditJGOurse  contains  observa- 
tions on  Public  Religious  Instruc- 
tion, and  a  Vindication  of  the 
Clergy  of  the  Ch^rch  of  England 


from  the  chargers  of  attaching  too 
much  importance  to  human  learn- 
ing, exalting  reason  above  faith, 
and  not  preaching  the  Gospel  of 
Christ. 

M  r.  Bewick,  the  celebrated  wood- 
engraver,  is  engaged  upon  a  set 
of  cuts  for  .(Esop's  Fables.  The 
work  is  far  advanced,  and  will 
make  its  appearance  ncxtsunnner. 

Our  rcatiers  will  learn  with  plea- 
sure, tliat  a  handsome  tribute  of 
gratitude  has  been  paid  to  the 
whole  British  nauon,  in  the  per- 
sons of  those  who  were  the  almon- 
ers of  its  bounty  to  the  snlferers  by 
the  war  in  German\-,  which,  from 
its  judicious  distribution  and  appli- 
cation, has  been  productive  of  the 
most  essential  and  extensive  bene- 
fits. TIjc  boon  so  promptly  bestow- 
ed, is  duly  acknowledged  by  high 
and  low,  and  by  her  generous  aid 
on  this  occasion,  Britain  has  erect- 
ed for  herself  in  the  hearts  of  those 
who  shared  her  benefactions,  a 
monument  more  imperishable  than 
brass  or  marble.  So  highly  didtlie 
King  of  Saxony  appreciate  the  re- 
lief afforded  to  his  afflicted  subjects, 
that  some  months  ago  he  present- 
ed through  Baron  von  Just,  his  am- 
bassador in  London,  his  |)ortrait, 
in  a  luost  superb  gold  i)()X,  set  with 
diamonds,  to  his  Grace  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  as  Presi- 
dent of  the  Westminster  Commit- 
tee; and  diamond  rings  to  tliree  of 
the  Secretaries,  Messrs.  ?>Iarten, 
Howard,  and  Watson;  and  confer-^ 
red  the  Order  of  Civil  Merit  on  Mr. 
Ackerniann,  the  fourth  Secretary; 
with  an  intimation  to  those  gentle- 
men, that  an  appropriate  memori- 
al for  each  was  preparing  at  the 
porcelain-manufactory  at  Meissen. 
Ss  2 


M^ 


INTELLIGENCJi,    LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


TlVi^'prbmise  was  fulfilled  on  Tues-  I  The  following  inscription,  placed^ 
tlay,    the   8th    of    October,    when  ;  beneath  the  painting,  in  explana- 
each  of   the  Secretaries  received^ 'l  tion  of  it^  subject,  is  not  inapplica" 
through  his  Excellency  Baron  von  ||  ble  to  the  exertions  which  the  Sax- 
Just,  a  case  containing  a   ma";ni- 
ficent  vase,  of  exquisite  workniah- 
ship  and  classical    execution,  and 
groups  of  figures  from  the  antique, 
accomjianied  witli  letters  from  the 
principal  Committee  at  Dresden, 
expressive  of  the  warmest  gratitude 
for  the  extraordinary  exertions  of 
Britisii  munificence.     The  memo- 
rials transmitted  to  Mr.  Ackermann, 
consist  of  three  pieces  of  porcelain 
■ — a  superb  vase  and  two  beautiful 
casts,  from  antique  statues.     One 
of  them,  representing  Castor  and 
Pollux,  is  executed  after  the  cele- 
brated work  in  the  Escurial,  which 
is  supposed  to  be  little  inferior  in 
excellence  to  the  Apollo  Belvidere. 
The  other  represents  Pylades  and  ' 
Orestes.    Theworkmanship  of  both 
is  exceedingly  fine.     The  fijjures, 
which  are  admirably  propprtioned, 
are  placed  on  a  pedestal  eight  or  ' 
ten  inches  in  height;  and  the  whole  ' 
js  couvposed  of  the  finest  porcelain, 
which  has  the  appearance  of  po- 
lished marble.     The  vase,  which  is 
iTJodelled  after  a  fine  specimen  of 
th.e  antique,  is  exquisitely  finished, 
it  is  nearly  two  feet  in  height.    The 
bordering,  at  the  mouth,  consisting  j 
of  a  fanciful  arrangement  of  cornu-  \ 
'^opire,  bunches  of  grapes  and  wheat-  { 
sheaves,  is  execr.ted  with  singular  I 
felici'ty.     Round  the  centre  of  tlie  i 
vase  there  is  a  very  handsome  paint-  i 
iffg,  representing  a  Roman  Empe-  I 
ror,  seated    on  the  chair  of  state,  | 
and  Surrounded  by  the  proper  offi- 

chilareh'a'pjjear  to  be  crowding  to- 


on monarch,  and  the  iiead  commis- 
sion appointed  to  superintend  the 
distribution  of  the  funds  collected 
for  the  purpose  of  alleviating  the 
distresses  of  the  Saxon  people, 
made  on  the  occasion  which  called 
forth  so  strongly  the  sympathies  of 
the  British  public  : — 

ALIMENTA    ITALIC. 

f/eminarum  fcecunditati  ge-^ 
nitorumq;  spei  consuluit  pub- 
ligus  parens  per  universam  ita- 
liam  pueuis  puellisa;  ulpiis  ali- 
mektakiis  institutis. 

The  subjects  which  adorn  this 
eleo^ant  tribute  of  gratitude  are 
well  chosen.  The  friendship  of 
Orestes  and  Pylades,  and  of  Castor 
and  Pollux,  is  proverbial.  We 
trust  a  friendship  equally  powerful 
atrd  equally  disinterested,  will  long 
exist  between  the  people  of  Sax- 
ony, who  endured  so  many  distress-r 
es,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Great 
Britain,  who,  though  at  a  distance 
from  the  theatre  of  war  themselves, 
felt  for  the  sufferings  of  those  who 
were  exposed  to  its  horrors,  and 
hastened  to  alleviate  them.  What- 
ever intrinsic  value  this  present 
may  possess— and,  from  the  beauty 
of  the  workmanship,  we  look  upon 
it  as  highly  valuable — it  sinks  into 
insignificance  when  placed  in  com- 
[)etition  with  the  feeling  which 
gave  birth  to  the  gift — the  feeling 
of  ardent  gratitude  for   generous 


wards  hini,  while  he  is  employed  in 
giving  directions   for  th&ir  relief. 


and  unsolicited  services. 

It  gives  us  pleasure  to.  bie!;  able 
to  record  an  additioiial  i^istance  of 
that  delicate   attention  bys  whieti 
his  Saxon  Majesty  has  ever  been 
I  distinguished;     Mdst'tif  t)nr'f^sLd[i 


POETRY. 


309 


crs  will  recollect,  that  some  months  i 
since  Mr.  Ackermaim  publisUed  a 
concise  Historical  Account  of  the 
House  of  Saxony,  IVoiu  the  pen  oi" 
Mr.  Shohcrl,  who  took  occasion  in 
the  work  to  vindicate  the  charac- 
ter of  Kine:  Iretleric  Au<justus 
from  what  appeared  to  hini  the 
most  maliyjnant  and  unjust  asper- 
sions. His  Majesty,  in  token  of 
his  satisfaction,  has  been  pleased 
to  send  to  the  author  a  handsome 
gold  medal,  of  considerable  value, 
bearing  his  portrait  on  one  side, 
inscribed  Fridericus  i^^Jfll^^TUS, 


D.  G.  Rex  Saxon i.^l,  &.c.  Sec.  &.c.} 
and  on  the  other  a  female  figure 
seated,  presenting  a  wreath,  with 
the  inscription  Bene  Mlrentibvs. 
This  llattering  present  was  trans- 
mitted through  Baron  von  Just, 
the  Saxon  ambassador  to  our  court, 
accompanied  with  a  letter,  signi- 
fying his  Majesty's  approval  of  the 
spirit  which  animated  the  author 
in  this  publication,  desiring  his 
acceptanc;e  of  the  above-mention- 
ed medal,  and  assuring  him  of  hi^ 
farther  favour. 


Who  owns  not  Hope's  mild  influence,  as 

she  cheers 
The  soldier's  heart,    and  charms  away 

his  fears? 
Who  with  the  pensive  mother  doth  not  sigh 
O'er  herh.v'd  babe,  in  fondest  sympathy. 
And  whilst  he  feels  a  spark  of  kindred  joy. 
Joins  not  her  wishes  for  her  slumb'ring 
boy  ? 

What  generous  bosom  hails  not  from  afar, 
Whirl'd  by  the  IMuse,  Improvement's  ra- 
pid car  ? 
Who  doth  not  see  her,brighl'ning  intoday. 
O'er  Indian  wurlds  possess  unbounded 
sway  ? 

Who  hath  not  mourn'd  Sarraatia's  bap- 
-'•'':'  lessfate.a  yiJJ  Jb  .griiiebiocf 
Sad  victim  of  Oppression's  lawless  ha>e. 
When  Hope,  her  guardian  seraph,  sigh'd 
farewell?  i. 

Who  hath  not  wept  as  Kosciusko  fell*,| 

Ah!  how  I  melt  with  pity,  when  I  see  ^ 
Who  cnvit'th  not  the  wanderer  o'er  the  l|  The  poor  lost  Indian  cross  the  accursed 

deep,  |]  sea? 

When  Hope's  sweet  aiustc  [alls  the  storm     His  miseries  in  mournful  lines  appear, 

to  sleep;  I*  Andevervsorrovvbreathe';resi>!lessihere: 

When  to  his  mind  his  hills,  his  native  'Yet  e'en  to  him  one  ray  of  Hope  belongs; 
n'i.      .skieSi.i   /v>(i;f.  !|  "T^*^   "tenth    Avatar"  shall   redress  his 

lliscot,  hi*  Jilelpr^fyid  ||js,fjiey/4s-arise  ?  '  wrongs. 


TO  T.  CAMPBELL, 

On  readim:  his  "  Pleasures  of  Hope 


M^<1L,  mighty  genius,  as  thy  theme  sub- 
':'   '  lime! 

Hail,  radiant  planet  in  the  sphere  of  time ! 
Oh!  that  on  me  the  Muse  a  ray  would 

shed 
Of  that  bright  halo  which  surrounds  thy 

head ; 
Oh !  that  in  my  cdd  Ixisom  it  would  shine ! 
Then  might  I  sing  in  numbers  worthy 

thine. 

Who  hath  not  paused,  astoni^h'd  at  the 

^M  ■.--        scope. 

The  wondrous  course,  and  glorious  march 

f,  of  Hope, 

Since  first  she  linger'd  on  War's  rampant 
wheels. 

Till  o'er  earth's  fabric  heaven's  last  thun- 
der peals  ? 


310 


I'OLTUY. 


E'en  Pope's  sweet  3Iuse  herself  might 

wish  to  sing, 
What  bhss  to  j'outh   Hope's  handmaid 

spiiits  bring, 
When  beauty  on  his  kindling  heart  hath 

gain'd, 
And  warms  his  soul  to  rapture  uncon- 

strain'd  ; 
When  tender  thoughts  his  noontide  hours 

employ. 
And  3very  nerve  is  harmonized  to  joy. 

How  doth  ihy  pencil,  with  a  master's  art, 

Depict  our  first-born  father's  hermit- 
heart. 

And  the  lost  charms  of  Eden's  blissful 
bower, 

Till  Heaven  adorn'd  it  with  it's  fairest 
flower ! 

Who  doth  not  >]gh  for  mournful  Ellenore, 
When  Conrad  leaves  her  to  return  no 

more? — 
But,   hark!    what  seraph-accents  meet 

her  ear  ? 
'*Th  Hope,  the  charmer,  breathing  com- 
fort near ; 
Soothing  her  agony  and  filial  pain. 
And   whispering,    that  their  souls  shall 
meet  again. 

Ye  dark  idolaters  of  chance,  give  ear. 
Whilst  Campbell  weaves  the  garland  you 

should  wear; 
A  chaplet  blasted  as  your  gloomy  deeds, 
A  nightshadesuited  to  your  impious  heads. 

Oh!  learn  repentance  from  his  heavenly 
•ay, 

And  own  your  Saviour's  kingdom  whilst 
ye  may : 

Then  when  th'  Almighty  sweeps  his  fiery 
robe 

O'er  earth,  and  dreadful  shakes  this  pal- 
sied globe; 

When  clad  in  vengeance,  with  a  wrath- 
ful hand 

He  hurls  destruction  o'er  each  guilty  land ; 

Sounds  his  dread  voice  amid  the  thunder's 
roar. 

His  awful  voice,  that  time  shall  be  no 
more ! 


Twangs  his  loud  clarion  through  earth's 

inmost  womb. 
And  wakes  each  shudd'ring  sinner  from 

his  tomb; 
Then  on  your  souls  eternal  Hope  shall 

smile, 
As  her  torch  kindles  at  earth's  blazing 

pile; 
Shall  light  them,  heavenward,  to  their 

long  abode. 
And  lead  them  to  the  bosom  of  their  God. 

Then,when  yon  planets  from  their  spheres 

shall  rush, 
And  worlds  on  prostrate  worlds  confess 

the  crush ; 
Whendiscord  thunders  through  the  low'r- 

ing  sky. 
And  bids  to  cease  celestial  harmony; 
When    every    orb  its   heavenly  course 

has  run, 
And  everlasting  darkness  shroudstliesun. 
Then,  mighty  Campbell,  must  thy  Muse's 

fire 
With  nature's  perishable  form  expire; 
But  long  as  Hope  can  linger  here  on  earth. 
Shall  live  thy  fame,  thy  genius,  and  thy 

worth. 

R.  N.  D. 

55,  Great  Russell-street. 


SORROW. 
%  Mr.  J.  M.  Lacey. 
Smile  not  on  me,  my  beauteous  maid  ! 

I  cannot  now  esteem  the  blessing; 
Mine  eye  is  dimm'd  by  sorrow's  shade, 
My  soul  absorb'd  by  griefs  distressing! 

Thy  smiling  lip,  thine  eye  of  love. 
Should  not  be  shared  with  my  sad  woe; 

The  kiss  of  peace  let  others  prove, 
I  cannot  feel  its  gentle  glow! 

Cold  is  my  heart,  it  throbs  no  more 
For  love's  soft  hour,  for  friendship'* 
duty  ; 

Its  every  hope  of  bliss  is  o'er. 

Gone  ev'ry  sigh  that  rose  for  beauty  ! 

Buried  within  my  bosom  lies 

Each  joy,  that  once  was  wont  to  bloom: 
Then  beam  not  lustre  from  thine  eyes, 

'Twill  be  but  sunshine  on  a  tomb  ! 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,   373,  Strand. 


~7r 


-^ 


m 


THE 


Bepofiitotp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  ^r. 


THE    SECOND    SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


December  1,  IBK). 


N^  XII. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 


1.  Frontispiece. 

2.  Pauk-Entkance 

3.  View  of  the  Savoy   in   I73G 

4.  Ladies'  Promenade  Diiess 
.5. Caruiage  Dress    . 

().    DjMNG-RoOM    WlNDOVV-ClRTAIN 

7,  Ornaments  for  painting  on  Woo 


D  AND  Fancy  Work 

COyTENTS. 


PAGE 
51  f'- 


3)3 
301 
ih. 
3G-t 
368 


FINE  ARTS. 


Architectural  liiius. — bt-bcrijitioi)  of  a 
l';irk- Eiitrnncf- — Ohseivaf  ions  on  the 
Dry-Rot  ill  Biiililings  (oncludedj  .      .311 

Aichitecliiral  Ri  vii'«  .— i«iai:iiu«  on  ll»e 
Eiitranri's  to  llic  Theatres — Royal  Col- 
lege of  Siijcoiis      315 

Results  ileddceil  from  llic  Chronological 
Survey  of  the  most  cmiii''nt  Artists  to 
tbe  Coiiimeiiceraeiit  of  the  Sixteenth 
Century        318 

THE  DO:\IESTJC    COMMON- 
PL.\CE-1K)0K. 

Method  of  prtvtntinij  SiaSickness      .     .  324 

Art  of  preparing  the  Leather  called  Sha. 
green ib. 

Easy  Frocess  of  making  Glass  Globules 
for  microsropic  Puiposcs 323 

Remedy  lor  the  poisonous  Effect  of  false 
Mushrooms 326 

Method  uf  detecting  the  Adulteration  of 
Tin ib. 

Instructions  for  measuring  tlie  Power  of 
a  Current  of  Water,  so  as  to  nsccrt.iin 
whether  it  will  justify  the  erection  of  a 
Mill 327 

Best  Method  of  judging  of  the  proper  Ad- 
justment of  the  Mariuer's  Compass      .  329 

Preparation  of  Iniiigo 331 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKCTCHES 
AND  ANECDOTES. 

Mr.  Thomas  Tomkins 332 

MISCELLANIES. 

Matrimony,  or  Faults  on  both  Sides    .     .  333 

Legitimate  Pride 339  I 

Adventures  of  a  Legacy- Huntress  Ccon-  1 

eluded)  ••  -'    •     •     .     • 342 

Notes  to  ^be  ,£ssay  on  tbe  Nature  and 

Va*-gf  Day- light  iu  tlie  Fine  Arts  .     .  346 


••AGE                                                                                             PACE 
The  Female  Tattler. — No.  XIL      .     .    .  3.50 
I  State  of  the  Savoy  in  173(7 353 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Whitakkr's  Carillon  Overture  .  .  .  354 
"    t)n    Banks    of  blushing 

R<"«es" 35^ 

•  "  The  Dog' is  liis  .'Master's 

Protector  and  Friend" ib. 

■  "  Sumiuerwill  come  again. 


Lady  fair" i^. 

"  The  qneer  little  Man"    .     »6. 

Harnett's  The  VVandereis       ,     ,     .     .-    ib. 
iMoNRo's  •'  Beauty  smiling  throngh  her 

Tears" g^ft 

Wilson's  Companion  to  Ihe  Ball  Room     ib. 
Ivi.ose's  "  By  that  Smile"    ....     .357 

--"Ah!   sigh  not  thns"        .     .      .     //; 

HOMFLI.'s  Preludes »/,. 

Drouet's  Ireiich  Air 35>* 

.ioussE's  HarmonicCards  ...      ih. 

Kalkbrenner's   Third   Trio  for  the 

Piano- Forte 35<> 

KlALLMARK's  "  The  Garland  of  Lore"  3rto 
CaLLENDER's  Third  Duet w 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions. —  Piomunadc  Drest — 
Carriage  Dress jof 

General  Observations  oa  Fashion  and 
Dre!.s        ib. 

Fashionable  Furniture  — Diawing-Rooin 
Window-Curtain        3^4 

INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY 
Ai^D  SCIENTIMC     ....     n. 

Ornaments  for  painting  on  \Vood  and 
Fancy  Work aGti 

POETRY. 

Albert  and  Matilda 3t>7 

INDEX.  % 


L.  Hart'ison,  Printer,  373,  Stratkl. 


TO  OUR  HEADERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

In  concluding  this  volume,  the  Proprietor  of  the  V\.KPosiroB.Y,  grateful  for  (he 
flattering  reception  which  the  New  Series  has  experienced  frorn  the  jiuhlic,  infornis  his 
subscribers,  that  it  is  his  intention,  in  the  succeeding  nvmbers,  to  make  such  farther  al- 
teration in  his  arrangements,  as  shall  render  the  Miscellany  more  acceptable  to  the 
general  reader.  Among  other  new  articles,  he  is  enabled  to  announce  a  series  cf  pa- 
pers of  a  popular  nature,  illustrated  ivith  engravings  6y  Rowlandson,  whose  comic 
talents  are  Well  known  to  every  lover  of  genuine  hwnour. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
announcements  of  luorks  which  they  may  have  in  hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert 
them,  as  We  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense.  JS'ew  musical  publications  also,  if 
a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  publisher,  shall  be  duly  noticed  in  our  Review;  and  extracts 
from  nezv  books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an  interesting  nature,  suitable  Jor  our 
Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

Miss  Kohmsnn  has  pointed  out  an  instance  of  imposition,  tovohichwe,  in  com- 
mon with  all  the  conductors  of  works  which  accept  communications,  are  unfortunately 
liable.  "  I  shall  feel  obliged,"  says  this  lady,  "  if  you  will  correct  an  extraordinary 
error  ivhich  has  taken  place  in  your  number  for  October,  1816,  a  poem  of  my  lute  mo- 
ther s  having  been  most  ingeniously  transcribed  under  the  signature  <•>/  Somerset,  fw- 
*i</ed  Reflections.  If  you  ivill  refer  to  Mrs.  Robinson's  I'oetical  Works,  vol.  II.  p. 
316,  you  will  find  from  uhence  this  most  glaring  robbery  proceeds.  I  have  no  doubt 
but  this  fraud  will  be  properly  delected  by  your  vigilance,  and  prove  a  sufficient  cau- 
tion to  your  poetical  transcriber  on  any  future  attempt  of  subsliluting  publisher! 
poetry/or  original  matlcr."  IVe  assure  Miss  Robinson,  that  we  have  by  far  too  much 
gallantry,  either  ourselves  to  rob  or  to  connive  at  '.he  robbery  of  a  fair  laJy,  and  that 
we  shall  not  fail  to  exercise  our  vigilance  for  preventing  the  recurrence  of  such  depre- 
dations. 

We  are  under  the  necessity  of  apologizing  to  some  of  our  poetical  correspondents, 
and  Oscar  in  particular,  for  being  obliged  to  defer  their  contributions  till  our  next 
number. 


Directions  to  the  Binder  for  placing  the  Plates  in  l/ie 
SECOND  VOLUME. 


NO. 

VIl 


1.   Frontfspiece. 

9.  A  Gothic  Conservatory      .     . 

3.  The  New  Custoin-House  .     . 

4.  Portrait  of  Priiue  Saxc-Coburj 

5.  Ladies'"  Opera  Dress     .     .     . 
6. IVIornins;  Dress     .     . 


I 
29 
3o 
32 
ib. 

7.  Saloon  Draperies 5S 

8.  Pattern  for  Needle- work. 

VIII  9.  Gardencr's-Cottage       .      ...     63 
It),  Ladies-'  Evening  Dress      .     .     .   )18 

n.  Walking  Dress      .     .     .     ib. 

1-2.  Dining-Room  Window-Curtains   121 

13.  Pattern  for  Needle-work. 

14.  Garden-Seats        125 

15.  Banqueting  House        ....   165 

16.  LadiesMIalf  Dress        ....  176 
17'  —  Evening  Dress       .     .    .    ib. 

18.  A  small  Bed 182 

19.  Pattern  for  Needle-work. 

20.  A  Vicarage-House IS7 


IX 


X. 


NO.  PA«E 

21.  Part  of  the  Ruins  of  the  Savoy 

in  I816 2I(> 

22.  Ladies'  IlaifDicss 240 

23.  Ball  Dress ib. 

24.  Mona  Marble  Chimuey-piece      .  241 
2."i.  Pattern  for  Needle-work. 

XI.  26.  Cottage  Orne        249 

27.  View  of  the  Waterloo  Bridge       .  288 

28.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress     .     .     .  299 

29.  Evening  Dress        .     .     .     ih, 

30.  An  English  Bed 305 

31.  Pattern  for  Needle-work. 

XI 1. 32    Park- Entrance 311 

S3.  View  of  the  Savoy  in  1736     .      .   3.^.3 

34.  Ladies'  Promenade  Dress       .     .  36I 

35.  Carriage  Dress      .     .     .     ib. 

36.  Di'.iing-Room  \Vindow-Curtain     364 

37.  Oruameuts  for  painting  on  Wood 

and  Fancy  Work      ....  366 


oU 


PARK-EMTKANCE. 


there  been  great  diderences  of  na- 
ture in  tb,em,  the  entrances  would 
have  been  altered."  How  far  his 
lordship's  tlieory  might  be  practi- 
cally correct  to  so  great  an  extent, 
may  very  properly  be  doubted ; 
but  certain  it  is,  it  often  happens 
that  p:ejn dices  ara  formed  at  this 
early  period  of  a  visit,  that  are  not 
readily  removed  even  by  n)anners 
the  most  liberal  and  conciliating. 

The  annexed  plate  d(jes  not  com- 
prise lodges:  it  is,  however,  in- 
tended that  the  residence  of  the 
porter  shall  be  in  the  immediate 
iieiglibourhood ;  for  without  the 
certainty  of  attendance,  a  proper- 
ty with  such  an  inclosure  has  a  ver^- 
inaccessibleapj)ear;ince.  The  piers 
of  tills  design  arc  more  decorated 
than  usual,  and  those  of  tiie  centre 
support  Grecian  vase  lamps;  the 
gates  are  of  iron,  richly  ornament- 
ed, and  side  piers  are  made  to  finish 
the  stone  or  brick  wall  with  which 
the  estate  is  surrounded. 

The  manufacture  of  iron  has  been 
greatly  benefited  by  improvements 
in  the  art  of  casting  it,  by  which 
the  embossed  pans  are  relieved 
from  the  moulds  with  so  much  pu- 
rity, that  little  labour  is  afterwards 
required  to  complete  the  richest 
ornamental  work  in  this  metal, 
which  is  tiierefore  performed  at  a 
small  expense  compared  with  the 
execution  of  such  work  a  short  time 
since;  and  as  iron  itself  is  now  at 
a  very  reduced  price,  it  may  be  ex- 
pected that  richly  embossed  works 
will  come  into  frequent  use,  par- 
ticularly as  this  metal  is  now  so 
generally  substituted  for  several 
other  materials,  that  the  century 
may  not  improperly  be  called  ano- 
ther iro)i  age. 

About  ninety  or  a  hundred  years 
ago,  superb  works  in  iron,  as  gates 


and  railings,  were  very  fashionable, 
and  Mr.  Adam  did  Ins  utmost  in 
his  time  to  revive  the  richness  of 
them  in  all  his  works  ;  but  ther« 
was  then  an  error  in  constructing 
and  in  connecting  tlvem  with  stone- 
work injurious  to  their  durability, 
thatalwavscliecked  the  encouran;e- 
ment  so  soon  as  its  eflects  were 
discovered  :  in  fact,  two  or  more 
pieces  of  iron  ought  not  to  be  pla- 
ced tOGfether  so  that  their  flat  sur- 
faces  come  in  contact  with  each 
other,  and  the  parts  which  join  the 
several  pieces  should  be  as  small 
as  possible,  for  the  rusting  of  the 
connecting  parts  speedily  separates 
them;  the  progressive  accumula- 
ting rust  eflects  this  still  farther, 
and  tb.e  repairs  by  lead  which  the 
smiths  supply,  continue  the  ad- 
vancement of  the  separation,  until 
the  heiffiit  and  widti;  of  the  whole 
work  far  exceed  its  original  di- 
mensions ;  and  thus  its  own  strength 
and  titness  are  destroyed,  and  the 
stone-work  witli  which  it  may  be 
connected,  is  torn  to  pieces.  This 
circumstance  has  given  some  per- 
sons the  false  notion  that  iron 
grows  v.'lien  in  a  manufactured 
state,  and  increases  in  length  and 
bulk  by  lapse  of  time.  Curious 
examples  of  what  lias  been  stated 
may  be  seen  at  the  south  front  of 
the  Bank  of  England,  where  the 
basement  of  the  building  is  dila- 
pidated to  an  extraordinary  extent; 
and  at  tlie  Adelphi  also,  where  the 
railing  to  the  parapet  of  the  ter- 
race towards  the  river  is  in  a  similar 
ruinous  state,  and  exceedingly  dan- 
gerous. Architects  now  prevent 
these  effects  by  correcting  theerror 
in  the  practice  of  the  manufactory, 
and  by  fixing  the  whole  as  inde- 
pendently as  possible  of  other  part* 
of  the  buildinsr. 


OBSERVATIONS    ON    THE   DliY-KOT    IN    BUILDINGS. 


313 


OBSiiUVATIONS    ON    TIIK    DKY-ROT 

IN    BUILDINGS. 

(Conlinittd  from  p.  'J .02 J 

It  will  be  evident,  from  the  fore- 
goiii<(  remarks,  thut  tlie  riipicl  way 
in  wliicli  buildings  are  tVccinently 
erected  must  sometimes  be  gene- 
rative of  this  disease;  forno  sooner 
are  the  carcases  of  tliese  edifices 
earried  up,  and  tiie  rcjofs  put  on, 
than  the  walls  are  jjlastered  on  the 
inside,  and  joerliaps  stuccoed  on  the 
outside ;  the  other  finisjdnirs  are 
proceeded  with,  and  thus  the  es- 
cape of  damps,  that  of  necessity 
are  within  the  walls,  is  retarded; 
the  houses  are  occupied  before  they 
are  dry,  and  too  frequently  the  re- 
sult is  an  universal  rottenness  of 
the  timbers.  A  house,  like  a  ship, 
should  have  its  proper  time  to  sea- 
son :  when  in  its  exposed  state,  all 
the  materials  of  which  its  skeleton 
is  composed,  should  be  suffered  to 
become  hard  and  dry  before  they 
are  cased  over  by  the  floors,  wains- 
coting, and  plastering  ;  for  it  will 
be  readily  imagined,  that  the  ex- 
tensiveness  of  the  disease,  arising 
from  this  circumstance  of  haste, 
must  eventually  require  an  expense 
to  eradicate  it  little  short  of  the 
original  cost  of  tlte  building,  unless 
the  soil  and  sitnativ)ii  he  of  the 
most  favourable  desc!  iption. 

Towards  the  cure  of  the  drj^-rot 
a  complete  knowledge  of  its  nature 
is  absolutely  necessary :  he  who 
undertakes  it  with  just  hopes  of 
success,  luust  be  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  varying  symp- 
toms uiiich  it  assumes  iti  the  seve- 
ral stages  of  its  progress:  he  must 
be  enabled  to  ascertain  if  it  be  ra- 
dical or  accidental ;  if  it  originates 
singly  from  the  soil,  from  vapours, 
from  the  timlieror  other  materials. 


or  errors  in  cor^st ruction  ;  if  in  com- 
binations of  several  of  these  sour- 
ces, or  ill  the  union  of  them  all: 
and  he  must  by  no  uieans  l)e  influ- 
enced with  the  hope  or  expecta- 
tion that  the  tlisease  may  be  cured 
by  the  appiicntion  of  nostrums,  in- 
dependent of  the*  removal  of  the 
causes,  or  of  a  scientific  corrective 
of  their  operations.  Nostrums  have 
been  sought  with  avidity  as  cures 
for  the  dry-rot,  and  quackery  has 
been  as  industrious  to  fabricate 
then);  but  he  who  expects  to  suc- 
ceed by  such  applications  alone 
will  certiiinly  fail  of  success,  for 
cheiuicals  can  be  usefully  employ- 
ed only-  to  correct  the  impurities 
that  remain  m  the  timber,  or  with 
the  other  materials  of  the  building. 
This  attempt  to  develojie  the  causes 
of  tlve  dry-rot  will,  it  is  trusted, 
expose  the  futility  of  further  ex- 
pectations from  such  remedies, 
which  from  their  nature  can  only 
be  applied  to  the  syu"!ptoms,  and 
never  aiiect,  or  indeed  reach,  the 
concealed  causes  of  the  disease. 
On  the  other  hatul,  he  will  rarely 
fail  of  success  in  his  attempts  to 
eradicate  tiiis  destructive  eneni}', 
who  carefully  investigates  the 
causes  whicli  conspire  to  produce 
it,  and  as  carefully  retnoves  them, 
or  arrests  their  operations;  alwa\-s 
observing,  tl.at  the  disease  is  rarely 
of  simply  a  single  nature,  but  con- 
sistinc:  of  combinations  of  several 
causes,  all  of  which  lie  must  reme- 
dy of  course,  or  his  laliours  will 
not  be  pro(\Lal)ly  answered. 

The  various  attempts  of  a  cen- 
tury to  cure  the  drv-rot  having  so 
frequently  proved  unsuccessful,  the 
disease  not  being  sufliciently  as- 
certained, and  all  nostrums  failing, 
a  remedy  was  considered  as  hope- 
T  T  2 


314 


OBSERVATIONS    ON    THE    DRV- ROT    IN    BUILDINGS. 


less,  until  it  was  proved  that   the 
admission  of  air  was  soinetimes  at-  : 
tended      with     heneficial     effects.  } 
Those  who  had  failed  in  former  at-  i 
tempts,  naturally  resorted   to  this  j 
application  as  tlie  only  means  of  j 
cure;    and    contenting  tiiemselves  I 
with  the  first  solution  of  tSie  mys- 
tery, they  concluded,  that  as  pure 
air  acted  as  a  preventive,  and  some- 
times destroyed  t'ne  fungus, the  dis- 
ease must  necessarily  be  caused  by 
stagnant  air   alone:    consequently 
the  admission  of  air  is  now  consi- 
dered  by  many  as  a  sovereign  re- 
medy, and  the  affair  is  investigated 
no  farther.     In  this  practice  there 
is  great  danger,  and  until  the  causes 
are   removed   which    produce   the 
prejudicial    efiiuvium,    the  admis- 
sion of  air  ought  not  to  be  relied  on. 
Air,  in  passing  througli  damps  or 
noxious  vapours,  partakes  of  their 
humidity  and  baneful  qualities,  and 
becomes  inadequate  to  the  salutary 
task  for  which  it  is  employed.   Ow- 
ing to   this   circumstance,  air   has 
been  frequently  admitted  into  the 
affected  parts  of  a  building  without 
success;  too  often,  instead  of  inju- 
ring the  fungus  particularly,  it  has 
considerably  assisted  its  vegetation, 
and  infected  with  the  disease  other 
parts  of  the  building,  which  would 
otherwise  probably  have  remained 
without  injury.     But   if   dry    and 
pure  air  can  be  safely  admitted  af- 
ter a  removal  of  the  several  causes, 
or  wiien  the  disease  is  only  depend- 
ant on  such  vapours  for  supjjort,  it 
may    reasonably    be    expected    to 
succeed,  if  administered  in  the  ear- 
l}--  stages  of  its  progress  ;  for  when 
the  vapour  is  removed,  and  the  fe- 
pij|ei!t  humidity  which  it  deposits 


is  dried  up,  there  is  no  longer  a 
suitable  recipient  for  the  germs 
that  are  scattered  by  the  circula- 
ting air.  The  timber  which  is  in  a 
state  of  decomposition  by  an  intes- 
tinal decay,  is  little  affected  by  the 
application  of  air,  as  it  cannot  pe- 
netrate the  surrounding  spongious 
rottenness  which  generally  forms 
the  exterior  of  such  timber,  and 
protects  the  action  which  the  humid 
particles  have  acquired. 

The  application  of  heat  to  the 
diseased  timber,  as  might  be  well 
expected,  is  similar  to  that  of  air, 
with  the  exception  only,  that,  when 
admitted,  it  either  occasions  a  more 
rapid  dissemination  of  the  disease, 
or  destroys  it  with  greater  facility. 

Under  the  circumstances  of  ne- 
cessity and  danger,  it  will  require 
considerable  skill  to  effect  the  pur- 
pose without  increasing  the  dis- 
ease; and  it  is  indispensably  ne- 
cessary', that  every  person  who 
takes  upon  him  to  admit  air  as  a 
remedy  to  this  evil,  should  previ- 
ously estimate  the  destructive  con- 
sequences which  may  result,  and 
ascertain  if  it  will  not  be  more 
injurious  than  heneficial  to  the 
building  ;  for  the  application  of  air 
to  the  vegetable  rot  is  similar  in 
its  effects  as  when  applied  to  fire, 
for  it  will  either  extinguish  or  in-^ 
vigorate  its  powers.  From  too  lit- 
tle consideration  in  this  practice, 
many  noble  mansions  have  been 
destroyed,  and  much  useless  ex- 
penditure incurred  in  others,  both 
which  would  have  been  prevented 
by  a  judicious  attention  to  the  cor- 
rective properties  of  air,  and  a 
knowledge  of  the  real  nature  an^ 
extent  of  the  diseas^^v^afdo  oi  side  t 
■  trj-iivob 


315 


AIICIIITECTURAL  REVIEW. 
No.  XI. 

IlEMAUKS    ON    Tin:    KNTUANCES    TO    OUFi    THEATRES 

To  the  Editor. 
Sir, 

Throucii  your  moans  I  beg 


forward  ;  a  great  crowding  takes 
place  with  those  who  would  follow  ; 
persons  are  jammed  forcibly  against 


to  convey  a  few  observations  to  the  |i  the  sides  of  the  door-way,  and  in 
noticeof  those  persons  under  whose  ::  the  general  and  violent  pressure, 
controul  is  the  regulation  of  so  1|  if  arms  are  not  broken,  or  limbs 
much  of  our  theatres  as  forms  the  \  dislocated,  it  is  less  owing  to  good 
entrances  to  them.  It  is  a  subject };  contrivance  than  to  good  fortune, 
on  which  hundreds  of  persons  have  I  When  this  danger  is  passed,  a 
nightly  just  cause  of  comt)laint,  !!  race  commences  across  the  space 
and  have  had  it  from  time  iniuie-  |i  betv/een  the  doors  and  up  to  the 
morial ;  but  ibis  I  submit  is  norea-  iron  gates,  in  wliich  the  weak  are 
son  why,  in  this  age  of  ingenious  j'  perhaps  borne  down  by  the  strong 
improvements,  they  sliould  be  ei- I:  and  the  swift :  if,  however,  tiiccon- 
ther  worse  in  the  new  tlieatres  than  I  test  for  distance  is  got  over  in  '^ix^q- 
in  the  old,  or  why  they  should  not  ['  ty,  a  new  one  conunences  at  the 
be  amendcil  so  as  to  surpass  them,  j  steps  and  iron  gates;  for  as  this 
The  audience  being  enabled  to  new  and  narrow  entrance  is  assailed 
procure  seats  to  be  kept  for  them  l'  at  the  riglit  and  left,  as  well  as  at 
in  tiie  boxes,  it  rarely  happens  \  the  centre,  a  triple  contest  alwa3's 
that  danger  or  inconvenience  ac-  II  ensues:  tlie  person  fairly  present- 
companies   the   admission   to  that  i  ed  to  the  opening  and  pressed  for- 


part  of  tl^.e  house;  but  to  the  gal- 
leries, and  the  pit  particularly,  it 
is  otherwise,  and  the  danger  is  al- 
ways   increased   in    pro[)ortiou    to 


ward  by  other  candidates  for  ad- 
mission, is  opposed  by  those  on 
either  side  of  him,  each  striving 
to  insinuate  himself  into  the  nar- 


the  attraction  of  the  performances  ;|  row  space,  and  to  thrust  back  his 
of  the  evening.  At  folding  doors  J:  neighbour ;  this  cross  assailment 
the  pit  audience  assembles,  and  at  'j  every  centre  applicant  has  to  con- 
an  appointed  time,  for  which  all  |  tend  with,  so  tl.at  the  spot  during 
are  in  eager  expectation,  these  are  ;  the  first  attempts  at  admission  has 
bastily  opened,  when  a  large  space  all  the  appearanccof  a  battle.  From 
is  presented,  into  which  the  au-  j  a  knowledge  that  all  this  will  en- 
dience rushes;  and  here  begins  the  j  sue,  a  selfish  and  unaccommoda- 
subject  of  my  complaint:  but  as  ting  spirit  prevails,  from  the efl'ect 
the  entrances  to  Covent-Gnrden  '  of  which  even  females  are  not  ex- 
house  are  perhaps  the  most  deser-     empted,   the    moment  the  parties 


ving  of  this  censure,  I  shall   con- 
fine myself  to  speak  of  that  theatre, 


meet  at  the  door,  and  it  is  conti- 
nued in  a  manner  that  \vould  not 


notwithstanding  most  of  them  are  •  exist  in  any  other  circumstances 
liable  to  objections  of  asimilar  na-  with  the  same  polished  members 
ture.  When  the  doors  are  opened,  !|  of  socict}'.  This,  sir,  n(id>  todan- 
^he  persons  in  advance  pass  swiftly  ij  ger  and  inconvenience  a  disgrac^i 


16 


hOYAL  COLLEGE  OF  SURGEONS, 


ful  belmviour,  that  has  long  been 
familiar,  and  is  therefore  tolerated 
only  because  the  urgency  of  the 
occasion  may  seen)  to  make  it  ne- 
cessary. This  also  prevents  the 
members  of  many  well  ordered  fa- 
nnlies  lr(;tn  attending  the  pit  of 
the  theatre,  uho,  for  several  reu- i 
sous,  prefer  tiiis  part  of  the  house,  i 
and  will  go  to  no  other.  And  let ; 
it  not  be  said,  that,  in  all  this,  dan- 
ger does  not  exist;  I  cannot  for- 
get the  dreaiiful  accident  at  the 
Hay  market  Theatre  some  years 
ago,  when  many  persons  were  trod- 
den to  death,  in  consequence  of  a 
rush  similar  to  this  I  have  spoken 
of.  I  have  seen  serious  accidents 
happen  at  t!ie  (irst  doors,  at  the 
iron  gates,  and  at  tlie  space  be- 
tween them,  and  1  feel  it  a  duty  to 
ren)onstrate  publicly  on  the  length 
of  time  such  dangerous  accesses 
have  been  suffered  to  exist,  when 
a  small  exercise  of  judi^ment  and 
a  less  expense  would  remove  the 
possibility  of  future  recurrences. 
That  this  has  not  been  amended, 
however,  I  do  not  attribute  to  mo- 
tives of  policy,  which  may  relate 
to  the  receipts  of  anotlier  part  of 
the  house,  because  I  believe  the 
managers  of  our  theatres  cannot 
be  operated  upon  by  such  motives, 
although  beneficial  to  themselves, 
if  at  the  same  time  they  involve  a  | 
risk  either  of  the  lives  or  limbs  of 
certainly  a  liberal  and  indulgent 
public.     I  am,  sir,  &c.  &c.       P. 


ROYAL  COLLEGE  01'  SURGEONS. 
A  company  was  incorporated  by 
Edward  IV.  in  1-161,  consisting  of 
persons  then  called  Barbers;  but 
others,  practising  surgery  only, 
formed  themselves  into  a  society, 
and  became  solicitcus  of  joining 


them;  and  they  were  accordingly 
united  in  the  thirty-second  of  the 
reign  of  Henry  VI  i  I.  at  which  time 
those  practising  surgery  were  ex- 
empted from  bearing  arms,  or  ser- 
ving ward  and  parish  offices;  and 
by  the  same  act  those  who  shaved 
were  enjoined  not  to  interfere  with 
the  healing  art,  as  those  who  fol- 
lowed the  business  of  surgery  were 
forbid  to  shave.  In  the  reign  of 
Charles  i.  the  surgeons  were  by 
letters  patent  authorized  to  become 
examiners  of  the  surgeons  of  Lon- 
don ;  and  it  was  ordered  that  no 
person,  whether  freeman  orforeign- 
er,  should  practise  surgery  within 
the  cities  of  London  and  West- 
minster, or  within  the  distance  of 
seven  miles  from  London,  without 
authoritv  from  the  company  of  Bar- 
ber-Surgeons. The  company  con- 
tinued thus  incorporated  until  1745, 
having  the  same  hall,  a  structure 
erected  by  Inigo  Jones;  but  at  that 
period  the  art  had  arrived  at  con- 
siderable eminence,  and  the  sur- 
geons finding  the  union  in  many 
resj)ects  inconvenient,  desired  to 
be  separated  into  a  distinct  compa- 
ny, for  which  an  act  of  parliament 
was  passed,  and  the  surgeons  se- 
parately incorporated  by  the  name 
of  the  Master,  Governors,  and  Com- 
monalty of  the  Art  and  Science  of 
Surgery  of  London.  By  this  act, 
however,  their  fine  hall  was  lost  to 
them,  upon  which  they  erected  a 
theatre  for  t!ie  purposes  of  their 
pursuits  in  the  Old  Bailey.  It  was 
at  that  time  considered  to  be  an 
elegant  but  not  an  expensive  struc- 
ture, consisting  of  a  rusticated 
basement,  with  square  windows, 
supporting  a  range  of  Ionic  pilas- 
ters, within  the  height  of  which  a 
principal  and  an   upper  floor  was 


noVAL   COLUiGK   Ol-    SUIlGI'ONS. 


317 


incliulcd  :  to  ihe  furiner  there  was 
an  ascent  by  a  tlouble  (light  of 
steps,  under  which  and  on  a  level 
with  the  ground  was  a  door  for 
the  convenience  ol  takincr  in  for 
dissection  the  bodies  executed  at 
Tyhurn,  or  afterwards  at  Newgate. 
The  windowsof  the  principal  apart- 
ments were  large,  with  square  ones 
above,  and  tiie  entablature  sup- 
ported a  plain  attic,  surnioMuted 
with  vases.  This  building  in  the 
course  of  time  was  found  to  be  in- 
adequate to  the  wants  and  conse- 
quence of  this  most  respectable 
b(Hiy  c)f  scientific  professors  ;  a  new 
situation  w  as  therefore. ol)tained, the 
old  structure  was  taken  down,  and 
al)out  the  year  1800  th.ey  obtained 
fnrtlicr  privileges  from  the  govern- 
ment, wlio  very  properly  consider- 
ed that  a  distinguished  rank  should 
be  given  to  so  necessary  and  en- 
lightened a  profession.  Th.e  com- 
pany thence  became  establislied  as 
a  college,  and  on  the  jioriico  of 
the  new  building  erected  on  the 
south  side  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 
is  inscribed  the  present  rank  of  the 
institution  : 

"CoLLEGivM  Regale  CniuvRGORv:\i." 
In  addition  to  the  usual  apart- 
ments, the  present  building  is  spa- 
cious, and  contains  the  recpiisite 
conveniences  for  the  exhibition  of 
the  various  operations  performed 
on  the  human  frame,  and  of  dissec- 
tions, for  the  important  study  of 
the  sublime  structure  of  man  :  but 
the  character  of  this  building  ex- 
teriorly by  no  means  indicates  the 
importance  of  the  establishment, 
or  the  noble  purpose  to  which  it  is 
dedicated.  This  college  should 
have  had  an  insulated  situation, 
and  in  a  dignified  union  of  archi- 
tectural  grandeur  and   beauty,    ii 


should  have  proclaimed  itself  the 
seat  of  science  and  wisdom.  Such 
edifices,  worthy  of  admiration  in 
themselves,  and  dignified  in  the 
purpose  to  which  they  are  applied, 
are  the  best  ornaments  of  a  citv, 
and  are  the  proper  testimonies  of 
the  respect  due  to  the  illustriously 
eminent  in  art  or  learning,  who 
eventually  become  the  chief  glory 
of  a  country.  But  this  edifice  has 
little  pretension  to  such  honours; 
the  north  front  of  the  building  be- 
speaks the  lact,  that  it  was  an  al- 
teration of  old  houses  for  the  pur- 
pose of  forming  one  of  greater 
magnitude:  and,  as  far  as  related 
to  the  arrangement  of  the  apart;- 
ments  and  the  necessary  conveni- 
ences for  the  purposes  of  the  insti- 
tution, doubtlessly  the  alteration  is 
performed  withjudgment;  but  these 
commonly  stuccoed  houses  are  in- 
jured by  the  affectation  of  dignity 
that  is  "  thrust  upon  them"  b\-  the 
appendageof  an  Ionic porticoof  six 
columns,  that  neither  fits  nor  is  fit- 
ting to  the  present  structure.  The 
[)ortico  in  itself,  however,  is  chaste 
and  elegant,  and  seemingly  there- 
suit  of  some  study  of  the  beautiful 
little  temple  of  liissus  at  Athens; 
and  in  this,  as  in  its  lovely  proto- 
type, the  characteristic  dentil  is 
wanting.  These  columns  are  the 
chastest  examples  of  the  order  that 
\\c  have  in  London  of  such  mag- 
nitiule;  but  in  this  instance,  as  in 
most  others  of  porticoes  not  be- 
longing to  churches,  they  face  the 
north,  ami  consequently  fail  to  ex- 
hibit half  their  beauties.  The  en- 
tablature is  surmounted  by  the  arms 
of  the  college,  and  at  each  of  four 
columns  by  a  tripod  :  these  do  not 
benefit  the  general  effect,  as  they 
are    nccessarilv   deficient   in   sub- 


518      RESULTS    OF    THE    CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY    OF    ARTISTS. 


stance,  and  inconsistent  with  the  I 
masses  beneath,  that  seem  to  have  } 
no  other  duty  but  to  support  them,  j 


The  piers  and  railing  in  front  of 
the  building  are  well  designed,  and 


have  a  good  eftect. 


RESULTS  DEDUCED  FROM  THE  CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY  OF  THE 
MOST  EMINENT  ARTISTS  TO  THE  COMMENCEMENT  OF  THE 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURY. 

Religion  gave  birth  to  the  imi-  \\  build  Trinity  church  at  Upsal,  in 
tative  arts :  these  had  arrived  at  j|  what  is  termed  the  Gothic  style, 
their  greatest  perfection  when  the  !|  after  tlie  model  of  the  church  of 
external  splendour  of  religion  had  j|  Notre  Dame  at  Paris, 
attained  its  highest  pitch,  and  they  I  In  the  erection  of  our  Gothic 
sunk  when  the  latter  began  gra-  l|  ciiurches,  long  after  the  time  when 
dually  to  decline.     Such  was  our  1'  any  Goihs  existed  as  a  distinct  na- 


main  deduction  from  the  survey  of 
the  names,  works,  and  merits  of 
the  artists  of  antiquity.  From  the 
subjoined  results  we  shall  perceive 
how  the  same  effect  was  again  pro- 
duced by  the  same  cause. 

As  among  the  Egyptians  and 
Greeks,  so  in  the  Christian  aera, 
architecture  was  first  called  into 
action,  and  it  was  in  the  construe 


tion,  the  clergy  took  the  greatest 
share.  Under  its  directions,  those 
which  are  still  standing  were  built 
either  during  or  about  the  end  of 
the  middle  ages.  Many  monks 
and  other  ecclesiastics,  nay,  even* 
bishops,  who  were  afterwards  ad- 
mitted into  the  number  of  the 
saints,  were  architects.  The  figure 
of  the  cross,  whether  Greek  or  La- 


tion  of  temples  that  this  art  was  l!  tin,  first  employed  at  Rome  on  the 
first  displayed  in  the  style  peculiar  ij  site  of  the  present  cathedral  of  St. 
to  itself.  Here,  however,  it  ap-  Ij  Peter  by  Pope  Sylvester,  has  been 
pears,  above  all  things,  that  neither  11  adopted  for  all  Christian  churches 


the  Gothic  nor  the  Lombard  style, 
as  they  are  called,  was  exclusively 
invented  or  employed  by  the  Goths 
or  Lombards;  butthat  we  find  them 
both  equally  diffused  at  the  same 
time,  and  that  we  might  at  most 
denominate  the  Gothic  the  north- 
ern style,  and  the  Lombard  the 
southern  style. 

Almost  every  one  of  the  more 
distinguished  nations  of  Europe 
has  its  own  architects.  Germans, 
however,  as  William  (Guglielmo), 
and  Jacob  (Lapo),  go  to  Italy,  and 
there  erect  churches  and  towers; 
and  a  Frenchman,  Etienne  de 
Bonneveil,  repairs  to   Sweden  to 


of  any  consequence.  This  religious 
idea  required  a  great  modification 
of  the  ancient  temple-architecture. 
As  to  the  Lombard  style,  it  isjl| 
mixture  of  the  latter  with  thaC 
which  originated  in  the  adoption 
of  the  form  of  a  cross.  The  cupola 
of  the  Pantheon  of  the  ancient 
world  was  raised  for  the  purpose  of 
covering  the  cross;  and  this  was 
first  done  not  by  a  Lombard,  nor 
one  of  their  descendants  in  later 
limes,  but  it  was  Buschetto,  a  Greek 
from  Dulichium,  not  far  from 
Ithaca,  who  exb.iblted  the  first  mo- 
del of  this  style  in  Italy,  in  the  ca- 
tiiedral    erected  by   him    at  Pisa. 


liliSULTS   OF   THE   CHRONOLOGICAL  SWKVtY    Of   ARTISTS.       ^ 


319 


These  are  fads  which  have  hithtrto 
been  overlooked  by  the  wnieis  on 
the  history  of  architecture. 

The  most  ancient  large  Christian 
church  siill  standing,  but  convert- 
ed into  a  niosqiie,  is  that  of  St.  So- 
phia at  Constantinople.  The  two 
most  modern  one:J  are  St.  Peter's 
at  Home  ami  St.  Pau'fs  in  London. 
The  building  of  the  most  spacious 
Christian  churches  consequently 
began  with  cupolas  and  ended  with 
cupolas. 

The  first  large  cupolas  erected 
after  that  of  St.  Sopliia  at  Con- 
stantinople, were  the  cupolas  of  the 
cathedral  of  Pisa,  built  by  Bus- 
chetto,  the  cupola  of  the  Battiste- 
rio  in  the  same  city,  by  Diotisalvi, 
and  the  j)olygonal  cupola  of  the 
cathedral  of  Florence,  by  Bruriel- 
ieschi. 

In  regard  to  sculpture,  we  re- 
mark that  it  was  much  later  than 
architecture  bet  ore  it  made  any 
considerable  progress.  The  most 
ancient  works  of  this  kind  yet  ex- 
tant, executed  by  masters  totally 
•unknown  to  us  between  the  ninth 
and  thirteenth  centuries,  are  crude, 
shapeless  figures,  wrought  in  coarse 
stone,  and  in  respect  to  the  stift'ness 
of  the  style,  not  unlike  the  oldest 
Egyptian  statues.  It  was  reserved 
for  Niccola  da  Pisa  to  render  to 
modern  sculpture  the  like  service 
as  Dtcdalus  of  old  to  the  sculpture 
of  the  Greeks.  This  art  also  was 
first  employed  in  the  construction 
and  embellishment  of  the  temples 
of  the  Christians,  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  it  had  been  among  the 
Egyptians  and  Greeks.  Auiong 
all  the  known  temples,  the  cathe- 
dral of  Orvieto  claims  the  first 
place,  as  having  given  occasion  to 
the  revival  of  this  pleasin;^  art.  The 

fol.  J  I.  No.  XI I. 


most  ancient  and  celebrated  artists 
(if  those  times,  who  lived  in  all 
parts  of  Italy,  either  wrought  in  it, 
(;r  at  least  embellished  it  with  their 
productions. 

The  oldest  works  of  sculpture 
wJiU  which  we  arc  acquainted  are 
exclusively  of  religious  import.  It 
began  first  to  manifest  itself  in  the 
shrines  for  relics  and  tabernacles, 
just  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
chest  of  the  Kypselus,  and  that  of 
Hyacinthus  at  the  throne  of  the 
Apollo  of  Amyclaia,  belonged  to 
the  most  ancient  plastic  works  of 
the  Greeks;  and  as  we  find  in  the 
ark  of  the  Israelites  the  oldest,  and 
almost  the  only  piece  of  sculpture 
among  those  people,  who  were  no 
oreat  friends  to  the  imitative  arts. 
It  next  appears  in  sarco|)hagi, 
tombs,  pulpits,  in  the  embellish- 
ments of  the  facades  of  churches, 
in  crucifixes,  and,  not  till  a  later 
period,  produced  statues  of  the 
saints,  of  Christ,  and,  lastly,  Ma- 
donnas. 1  lie  material  in  which  it 
works  is  at  first  the  common  stone 
for  building;  it  then  selects  wood 
and  marble;  and  it  is  not  till  !k'- 
fore  the  commencement  of  the 
fourteenth  century  that  it  appears 
in  bronze  works,  which  we  know 
for  certain  to  have  been  produced 
in  Italy  by  the  more  eminent  Ita- 
lian masters.  To  these  works  be- 
long the  old  bronze  gales  of  the 
Battisterio  at  Florence,  executed 
by  Andrea  Pi^ano:  for  that  this  art 
had  not  for  several  centuries  been 
practised  in  Italy  is  particularly 
proved  by  the  very  ancient  gates 
of  bronze  of  the  cathedral  of  Pisa, 
which  fall  in  towards  the  hanging 
marble  tower.  These  gates,  which 
represent  twenty-four  subjects  from 
the  New  Tesiair.ent,  with  explana- 
V   u 


320 


RESULTS   OF   THE   CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVEY    OF   ARTISTS. 


tions  111  tlie  ancient  monkish  char 
raciers  of  tlie  sixtli  or  seventh  cen- 
tury, in  a  rude  but  simple  style, 
were  brought  in  the  year  1117 
by  the  Pisans  from  the  Balearic 
Islands,  whicli  they  conquered,  and 
erected,  together  with  two  por- 
phyry columns,  as  t'.ieir  most  va- 
luable trophies,  at  the  cathedral. 
For  this  reason  it  is  more  than  pro- 
bable, that  the  ancient  bronze  gates 
which  are  to  be  seen  at  St.  Peter's 
in  Rome,  as  also  at  St.  Paul's  out 
of  the  city,  on  the  ruad  to  Ostia, 
and  likewise  the  celebrated  gates 
of  Benevent,  were  not  executed  by 
Italians,  but  by  Greek  masters. 
The  former  of  these  comprehend 
ten  compartments,  six  historical 
basso  relievos,  a  Christ  sitting,  a 
Madonna  sittini!;,  a  Peter  standing, 
and  a  Pope  kneeling  at  his  feet. 
They  were  executed  in  the  time  of 
Pope  Eugenius  III.  about  1150, 
instead  of  the  silver  gates  wiiiich 
had  been  carried  olf  by  the  Sara- 
cens. Paul  V.  had  them  repaired. 
The  second  consist  of  fifty-two 
Subjects,  many  of  which  are  from 
the  New  Testament,  as  the  Annun-  i 
ciation  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  I 
Conception,  the  Presentation,  the  ■ 
Crucifixion,  &c.  They  are  exe-  j 
cuted  in  thin  plates  of  bronze  upon 
wood.  The  explanations  of  the 
subjects,  and  also  the  names  of  the 
apostles,  are  in  Greek.  Neverthe- 
less, in  some  of  the  compartments, 
where  there  are  no  figures,  are  La- 
tin inscriptions.  The  execution  of 
these  gates  dates,  according  to  the 
Latin  inscription  upon  them,  yiimo 
millesimo  septiiagi'Htno  ah  incarna- 
tione  Domini,  &c.  from  the  year 
1170,  by  the  command,  and  at  the 
expense,  of  Archdeacon  Hilde- 
brand,  who  was  afterwards  nope  bv 

%'    u    l 


the  name  of  Gregory  VII.  Hie 
third  are  adorned  with  seventy-two 
biblical  subjects,  and  many  por- 
traits of  the  bishops  of  Benevent  to 
tlie  year  1151,  as  the  inscription 
informs  us. 

After  Andreas  Pisano,  we  dis.co- 
ver  still  greater  improvement  in  the 
works  of  Moccio  of  Siena,  and  af- 
terwards again  in  those  of  Ninus 
Ugolino.  But  it  was  not  till  the 
timeofBrnnelleschi,  who  flourished 
forty  years  after  the  latter,  liiat  it 
began  to  raise  itself  anew  to  any 
considerable  height.  At  the  same 
time  with  him  flourished  Donatello 
and  Agnani.  At  length,  under  Ghi- 
berti,  who  executed  the  more  mo- 
dern bronze  gates  at  Florence,  it 
attained,  as  far  as  regards  tlie  treat- 
ment of  basso  relievos,  to  such  a 
degree  of  perfection  as  we  may 
safely  assert  to  have  been  jipt, yet 
surpassed.  i 

r  Seven  of  the  most  eminent  artists 
of  Italy  were  summoned  by  the  se- 
nate of  Florence  to  exert  their  ahi- 
littesin  preparing  a  model  foe  these 
gates.  They  were,  as  we  have  slated 
in  the  survey,  Brunelleschi,  Dona- 
tello, Lorenzo  Ghiberti,  Frajnccsco 
de  Vandabrina,  Lorenzo  di  Bartol- 
luccin,  Jacopo  della  Querela,  and 
piccolo  of  Arezzo.  To  tlte  third 
of  these  the  prize  was  adjudged, 
even  by  the  other  competitors 
themselves.  These  gates,  concern- 
ing which  Michael  Angelo  declared 
that  they  deserved  to  be  the  gates 
of  Paradise,  are  still  standing  a^  a 
great  ornament  of  modern  sculp- 
ture in  the  place  where  they  were 
erected,  and  most  of  our  best  mo- 
dern sculptors  have  improved  them- 
selves by  them.  This  is  particularly 
observable  in  the  admirable  works 


RESULTS   OF   THE    CHRONOLOGICAL  SUKVEY    OF   ARTISTS. 


3:21 


those  of  Civitali  of  Lucca,  wlio 
flourished  fifty  years  later,  and  in 
whose  time  modern  sculpture  had 


duced  a  work,  which,  while  it  will 
bear  a  couiparison  in  many  respects 
with   the    Italian    sculpture,    is   to 


reached  the  same  step  upon  which  1|  Germany  what  the  gates  of  Ghi- 
we  see  it  from  fifty  to  eighty  years  i  berti  are  lo  Italy,  a  performance 
afterwards,  in  the  time  of  Sansovino  ||  by  which  the   national  reputation 


and  IVIichael  An<relo, 


in  this  branch  of  the  art  is  indis- 


Froin  these  remarks  it  follows,  [,  putably  est:il>lished. 
that  if  in  architecture,  which  prin-  '  From  the  list  of  artists  in  mosaic, 
cipally  relates  to  the  construction  !|  it  will  be  perceived  that  this  art, 
of  temples  in  the  original  CJothic  ^  designed  r;uhrr  for  ornament  than 
style,  as  it  is  called,  the  Gernuins  Ij  for  the  gratiiication  of  a  high  mo- 
a-ui  French,  as  also  the  Scotch, !  ral  sense,  and  which  was  employed 
English,  and  Spaniards,  have  equal  I  for  the  same  purpose  by  the  Greeks 
merit  with  the  Italians,  since  it  was  I  and  Romans,  by  whom  it  was  term- 
cultivated  and  improved  at  one  and  ;|  ed  opus  lerniicii/atuiii,  was  again 
the  same  time  by  all  these  nations, 
hut  especially  by  the  Germans,  yet 
in  the  higher  walk  of  sculpture  the 
Italians  claim  the  pre-eminence. 
No  nation  began  so  early  to  prac- 
tise this  art  as  they,  and  none  has 
produced  works  of  such  perfection 
within  so  short  a  period.  The  Ger- 
mans alone  can  boast  of  havjng 
shewn  after  them  some  blossoms, 
which  unfortunately  were  not  ma- 
tured into  fruit  of  any  importance. 
Vitus  Stoss,  a  native  of  Cracow  in 
Poland,  of  German  descent,  came, 
after  his  travels  through  Italy,  and 
ashort  subsequent  stay  in  his  native 
country,  where  he  did  not  meet  with 
satisfactory  encouragement  for  his 
art,  to  Nurnberg,  settled  tiiere,  and 
was  the  first  who  awakened  in  Ger- 
many the  higher  sculpture.  It  was 
probably  to  the  study  of  his  works 
that  Allicrt  Durer,  and  still  more 
Melchior  Bayr,  owed  their  talents: 
but  his  influenco  on  German  sculp- 
ture was  particularly  manifested  in 
the  productions  of  Peter  Fischer 
and  his  sons,  who,  in  the  admira- 
ble monument  in  bronze  of  St.  Se- 
baldus  at  NUrnberg,  have,  both  as 
to  ideas,  style,  and  execution,  pro- 


introduced  into  Italy  by  a  Greek, 
who  had  wrought  in  the  cathedral 
of  St.  Mark  at  Venice.  During 
the  muhlle  ages  this  art  seems  to 
iiave  been  lost  in  this  country.  The 
oldest  mosaics,  executed  by  uias- 
ters  wholly  unknown  to  us,  and 
which  may  be  considered  as  relics 
of  the  art  left  from  the  time  of  the 
ancient  Romans,  are  ilic  follow- 
ing : — 

1.  Mosaics  representing  the  occupations 
of  the  viniajje,  in  the  temple  of  Bac- 
<  l»us,  as  it  i.s-;fylt'fJ,  or  in  the  church  of 
St.  Coiis'anz.i,  (laughter  ot  Cloiisian- 
tine  the  (iieat;  probably  of  the  tiiue 
of  that  emperor.  Christ  upon  the 
globe,  with  John,  seems  to  be  of  some- 
what later  execution.  This  is  perhaps 
I  In-  tiisl  Christian  mosaic  tliat  is  yet 
known. 

2.  Christ  on  aihrotic,  «iih  t\^o  angels  by 
his  side,  in  the  church  of  St.  Agatha 
Magiiiore  at  Ravenna;  executed  in 
the  time  of  I-lxsuperaiitius,  bishop  of 
(hat  see,  400  years  after  the  birth,  of 
Christ.  I 

3.  Christ,  with  fourteen  busts  by  his  side, 
over  an  arch  in  the  ciiurch  of  St.  Sa- 
bina,  on  the  «ite  of  the  celebrated  tem- 
ple of  Diana,  on  the  Aventine  at 
Rome  ;  executed  in  the  time  of  Pops 
Ca,'lestine,  A.  D.  124. 

U  u  2 


32%' 


RESULTS   OF    THE  CHRONOLX^^CAL   SURVEY   OF   ARTITBTSIS 


4.  The  Annunciation  of  the  Virgin  Marjr, 
together  wiih  the  Birih  or  Christ,  ,the 
Flight  to  Egypt,  and  the  Massacre  of 
the  Itilaiits  at  Bethlelieni ;  furaierly, 
over  an  aich  in  S.  iVIarij^  MaggiDre-at 
Unme;  executed  in  the  time  of.  Pope 
Xystus  III.  433.  In  the  Barberiiii 
library  are  still  to  be  seen  drawings  of 
this  perfonnance. 

5.  Four  ancient  mosaics  in  the  church  of 
St.  Placida  at  Ravenna,  of  the  year 

■  410. 

0.  Christ  «'ith  the  Saints  by  his  side,  on 

the  right  and  left  over  the  great  arch 

of  the  nave  of  the  church  of  St.  Paiil 

at  Rome ;    executed   in  the  time  of 

Leo  I.  A.  D.  441. 

7.  The  Baptism  of  Chri-it  in  the  Jordan 

by  John,  surrounded   by  the  twelve 

f;  Apostles,  in  S.  Giovanni  at  Ravenna; 

lj,execuled  in  451.         :,|   ,vs*vniK  luo 

^jjj'he  four  Evangelists  antl  the  Lamb  of 

jypod  in  the  oratories  of  the  Battisterio 

^Q^'i  S.  Giovanni  di  Laterano  at  Rome, 

;   of  the,  year  402. 

9.  Christ  with  six  Disciples,  in  the  church 
of  S.  Andrea  iri   Barbara  at  Rome; 

^"executed  in  the  time  of  Simplicius, 
■  A.I).  463. 

10.  Christ  on  the  globe,  with  the  twelve 
.  "f'Disciples,  whose:  names  are  all  inscri- 

c^'bed,  in  the  church  of  S.  Agatha  in  Su- 
wcburra  at  Rome  ;  executed  in  the  time 
-3  of  Ricimer,  A.  D.  472.  There  is  a 
cy  drawing  of  it  in  the  Vatican, 
'^l^  Christ,  twiih  eight  other  corriposi- 
^j-y-tions,  in  the  pavement  of  the  prostyle 
-,r,pf  the  church  of  S.  Giovanni  di  Late- 

j,l2.  Christ,  in  the  tribune  of  old  Sf.  Pe-f' 
j  ter's  at  Rome,  of  the  time  of  Pope  In- 
,  nocent  1.  ti 

'  l3.  Christ,  with  the  globe  in  his  |ibnd,  iii' 
"*  '  the  confessional  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome ;; 
^''    supposed  to  be  of  the  ninth  century. 

14.  Eight  compositions   from    the  New 

^Testament,  with  the  Madomia  in  the 

''centre,  in  the  oratory  of'lhe  Virgin 

Mary  in  St.  Peter's  at  Ro^e,  of  the 

<:-'.■  year  705*-  Dim  'fbnio-ii^iti: 


'  From  this  statement  of  the  mbsts 
ancient  Christian  mosaics,  it  is  toi 
be  remarked,  that  none  of  theirtl 
dates  with  certainty  later  than  theq; 
eightii  century.  At  the  same  time? 
we  remark  how  the  productions  oF 
this  art  were  employed  even  so; 
early  in  the  decoration  of  churchesi 
and  convents,  and  that  it  was  not 
till  it  had  received  an  improved 
form  from  such  artists  as  Giotto, 
Agnolo  GadUt,  and  Pietro  Caval*-; 
lini,  that  a  higher  destination  was 
allotted  to  it.  At  that  early  period 
it  was  perceived  that  it  was  capa- 
ble of  serving  to  perpetuate  the 
master-pieces  of  painting,  or  at 
least  to  procure  for  them  a  more 
peruiauetit  duration,  in  which  avo- 
cation Fabius  Cristofano  and  liis 
son  so  eminently  distinguished 
themselves,  as  may  be  seen  in  St» 
Peter's  at  Rome,  and  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Siena.  The  cathedrals  of 
St.  Mark  at  Venice  and  of  Orvieto, 
together  with  the  Battisterio  uof 
Florence,  are  most  reinarUableafor 
works  of  this  kind.  -     '  ;^',j-.  ' 

Last  of  all  the  imitativeantsap^ 
pears  painting.  We  have  observed, 
on  a  preceding  occasion, that  paint'^ 
ing  among  the  Greeks  did  not'  aitf^ 
tain  the  vigour  of  youth  till  Phi- 
dias had  won  the  crown  for  sculp- 
ture by  his  Jupiter  Olyimpius  and 
his  Pallas  Athene.  Nearly  the 
same  may  be  observed  of  Christian 
painting  with  reference  to  Chris- 
tian sculpture.  So  early  as  the 
commencement  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  Niccola  and  Andrea  de 
Pisa  were  in  sculpture  what  Cima- 
bue  and  Giotto  were  in  painting  in 
the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth. 
Donatelli,  Ghiberti,  arid  Civitali 
raised  Christian  sculpture  between 
the  commencement  and  the  raiddlq 


RESULTS   OF   THE    CHRONOLOGICAL  SURVKY    OF    ARTISTS.       «!^-''> 


of  the  fifteenth  century  to  the  point 
upon  which  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
Michael  Aiigelo,  Raphael,  Corrc^- 
pio,  and  Titian  placed  painting  af- 
ter the  beginnin<^  of  the  sixteenth. 
The  advances  of  sciilplnrc  always 
precede  those  of  [)aiiuing-  hy  seve- 
ral consiilerable  steps. 

If  we  inquire  into  the  causes  of 
this  tardiness  on   the  part  of   the 
latter,  they  seem  to  he  chiefly  ow-  11 
ing,  in  the  first  place,  to  this  cir-  ', 
cumstance,  that  sculpture  is  more  1 
necessary  than  painting  to  the  em- 
bellishment   of  the   temples,   and  jj 
consequently  to  the  heightening  of  || 
the  splendour  of  religion,  A  statue  i 
being  a  cor[)oreal  nuiierial  object,  [ 
will  always  make  a  more  profound  : 
impression  upon  the  multitude  than  \ 
apicture;  and  man  always  first  sup-  j 
plies  the  more  necessary  wantsof  the  • 
senses,  as  well  as  of  the  moral  feel- 
ings.    In  the  next  place,  it  is  ow- 
ing to  the  difficulties  inherent  in  | 
the  art  of  painting  itself,  with  which  ' 
it  had  to  struggle  before  it  could  | 
flourish,  so  that  it  coukl  not  fail  to  i 
be  outstrJ})pcd  in  its   progress  by  j 
sculpture.     Forn),  ligiit,  and  sha-  j 
tlow    in    the    ditierent    parts,   the  | 
lijj;hting   of    the    whole,    grouped 
composition,  fore-shortening,  and, 
lastly,  colouring,  constitute  the  va-  ' 
rioiis  provincesof  painiing,  to  only 
one  of  which  sculpture  has  to  at-  j 
tendi  'The  former,  therefore,  pre-  j 
supposes  more  profound  study,  ami  i 
must  of  course    pursue    a   longer 
road;     Sculpture  also    has   in   the 
mere  forms  certain  limits  to  its  art, 
where  pamting  never  can  set  any 
for  itself,  in  the  movement  of  those 
parts  where  form  is  lost  in  the  play 
of  the  colours.     \\  hat  then  is  more 
necessary,  tivan   that  the  form   of 
Xh^  more  solid  parts  should  first  be 


scientifically  defined  by  sculpture 
before  painting  confers  life  upon 
ihem  hy  colours.  Sculpture  alone 
is  the  true  canon  of  painting.  If 
the  Greek  painters  required  a  long- 
er period  than  the  Christian  in  at- 
taining the  same  degree  of  excel- 
lence as  the  most  perfect  models 
in  sculpture  previously  possessed, 
the  reason  probably  was,  because 
most  of  the  latter  were  sculptors 
also,  atid  that  by  this  association 
sculpture  lent  more  assistance  to 
the  sister  art  than  it  seems  to  have 
done  among  the  Greeks — an  ob- 
servation which  can  scarcely  es- 
cape any  profound  connoisseur  of 
modern  and  ancient  art. 

During  the  period  embraced  in 
our  survey,  ])ainting   had    several 
epochs.     We  began  with  Cimabue 
and  brought  it  down  to  Jacopo  del 
Sella'io,  who  belonged  to  the  school 
of  Masaccio.     Here   we  first  find 
the  art  liberated  from   the   tram- 
mels of  the  modern  Greek  style  by 
Cimabue,  and  still  more  by  Giotto. 
The    stiiTness   of    the    forms   was 
avoided  ;  fore-shortening  was  ven- 
tured upon  by  the  latter ;  above  all, 
a  certain  spirit  and  animation  now 
manifested  themselves,  and  the  art- 
ist began  to  copy  Nature  more  ex- 
actly even  in  her  defects.     After 
Giotto,  the  real  father  of  modern^ 
painiing,  it  was  raised  still  higher, 
especially  in  the  works  of  Stephano 
■■  of  Florence,  and  Simone  Mommi 
of  Siena,  by  greater  correctness  of 
1  design,   superior    dignity    in    the 
forms,   by   the   indication    of   the 
naked    figure    under   drapery,    as 
also  by  greater  elegance    of  the 
,  folds,  and  by  the  colouring.  In  the 
.  school  of  the  Gaddi,    about   fifty 
I  years  later,  the  colouring  was  far- 
ther improved,  and  attained  dis- 


324 


METHOD    OF   PREVENTING   SEA-SICKNESS. 


tinguislied  eminence  in  the  works 
of  Antonio  of  Venice,  as  may  be 
particularly  remariied  in  his  works 
in  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa.  Dur- 
ing this  period  fresco-painting  de- 
veloped its  powers.  About  sixty 
years  later  appeared  the  works  of 
Masaccio  and  Fra  Giovanni  da 
Fiesole,  who,  by  the  unsophistica- 
ted dignified  representation  of  na- 
ture, together  with  the  energetic 
expression  of  tlie  feelings  which 


Netherlands,  in  vented  oil -pain  ting, 
which  being  transplanted  to  Italy 
by  Antonello  di  Messina,  produced 
such  exquisite  fruit  in  that  coun- 
try. Itwasin  tliis  period  also  that 
the  works  of  Antonio  of  Venice, 
Paola  Uccello,  and  Alessio  Baldo- 
vinetti,  first  began  to  display  supe- 
rior examples  of  landscape-paint- 
ing, which  is  seen  about  one  hun- 
dred years  earlier  in  the  perforn»i 
ances   of    Piecro    Laurati    in    the 


animates  tliem,  opened  the  true  ;  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa,  and  in  simi- 
way  for  Leonarda  da  Vinci,  Mi- I  lar  pictures  by  oilier  artists  of  that 
chael  Angelo,  FraBartolomeo,  Pie-  ;  lime,  in  its  rude  state,  nearly  as  it 
troPerugino,  and  Raphael.  Dur-  ;  still  appears  in  the  landscapes  of 
ing  this  period  the  van  Eyks,  in  the     the  Chinese. 


J.>;'0^ 


liJiw  "s 

j,i       THE  DOMESTIC  COMMONPLACE-BOOK; 

£pfllaining  uulhentic  Receipts  and  miscellaneous  Inforvialiou  in  every  Branch  of 
.^t^  Domestic  Econuinij,  and  of  general  Utility.         r'HOtl£ld<n9n 


'1.  SEA-SICKNESS. 

The  sea-sickness  is  a  spasmodic 
affection  of  the  stomach,  produced 
by  the  alternate  pressure  and  re- 
cess of  the  contents  of  that  organ 
against  its  lower  internal  surface, 
according  as  the  rise  and  fall  of 
the  ship  opposes  or  recedes  from 
the  action  of  gravity.  Hence  it  is 
relieved  by  a  change  from  the  erect 
to  the  prone  posture,  or  by  remo- 
ving from  the  extremity  of  the  ves- 
sel to  the  vicinity  of  the  axis  of 
the  pitching  motion,  near  the  main- 


effort,  or  diversion  :  but  to  Such  &s 
have  not  acquired  this  facility,  it 
may  perhaps  be  acceptable  to  know, 
that  in  most  cases  this  distressing 
illness  is  greatly  relieved  by  taking 
ten  drops  of  sulphuric  ether  in  a 
spoonful  of  water.  The  writer  of 
this  article  has  been  assured  by  a 
commander  of  a  packet,  constant- 
ly sailing  between  Harwich  and 
Helvoetslu3's,  that  of  all  the  re-r 
medies  tried  none  was  superior  to 
ether,  and  that  this  sickness  was 
frequently  relieved  in  his  passen- 


mast;  and  therefore  also,  when  the  i  gers  by  the  use  of  it.  A  smaU 
stomach  has  become  habituated  to  I  quantity  of  red  wine  heated  witli 
a  regular  vibration  of  one  kind  in  !j  spices,  and  the  stimulus  of  food  ta- 
a  ship  for  several  months,  the  sick- i[  ken  even  against  the  inclination, 
ness   may,  nevertheless,  be  again  I  have  likewise  been  found  beneficial. 

generated  by  a  different  vibration  

in  a  boat.  As  it  is  an  effect  which  i  art  of  preparing  the  leather 
requires  some  time  to  be  generated,  called  shagreen. 

and  comes  on  gradually,  it  is  not  The  singular  and  valuable  lea- 
difficult  to   ojjpose   it   by  mental     tlier  called  shagreen,  which  is  ira- 


PROCESS    van    PHKPAUINC;    SHACREKN    LEATHER. 


325 


ported  chiefly  from  Astracan,  has 
o(  late  been  iiigeiiiously  ("ahiicatetl 
in  Germany,  ol  a  quality  tqnul  to 
that  prepared  by  tlie  Tartars  aod 
Armenians.  The  process  is  as  fol- 
lows : — 

To  make  shagreen  leather,  hor- 
ses' and  asses'  hides  are  taken,  but 
it  is  only  a  small  part  froiu  the 
crupper  along  the  back  that  can 
be  used  for  tins  purpose.  Tnis 
part  IS  cut  oil  immediately  above 
lUetailin  a  semicircular  form,  about 
34  inclits  iij)on  tiie  crupper,  and 
2h  along  tr.e  back.  These  pieces 
are  tirst  soaked  in  water  till  the 
hair  becomes  loose,  when  it  is 
scraped  od,  and  the  skin  is  again 
soaked  a!id  scraped  so  thin  as  not 
to  exceed  a  wetted  hog's  bladder 
in  iiiickness,  and  till  all  the  extra- 
neous u;atter  is  g(jt  out :  a  clean 
membranous  pelt  is  thus  obtained. 
The  piece  is  then  stretched  tight 
on  a  iraine,  and  kept  occasionally 
wetted,  tUat  no  part  may  shrink 
unequally.  The  frames  are  laiii 
Oil  l.ie  floor  with  the  flesh  side  of 
the  skin  undermost,  and  the  grain 
side  IS  strewed  over  with  the 
irjBmooih  black  hard  seed  of  the  goose- 
Jvot  plant  ( (^henopodium  aWtim)  ;  a 
felt  is  inen  laid  upon  tliem,  and 
the  setds  trodden  in  deeply  into 
tiie  moist  skin.  The  use  of  this 
is,  tofiive  tlie  pecidiar  mottled  sur- 
face for  which  stiagreen  leather 
is  distinguished.  Tiie  frame,  with 
the  seetls  suU  sticking  to  the  skin, 
j^  tjjeu  dried  till  the  seeds  shake 
^©it,,  and  the  skin  is  left  a  hard 
Ji^viiy  substance,  with  the  grain 
side  iier-  ly  indented.  It  is  next 
,^HJd  on  a  solid  block,  covered  with 
wool,  aivd  strongly  rasped  with  two 
or  tliree  iron  instruments  (the  par- 
tlciyAr  £ofim  of  winch  it  is  unneces- 


sary to  describe),  till  the  whole  of 
the  gram  side  is  shaved,  so  that 
the  impression  of  the  seeds  is  very 
slight  and  uniform.  The  skins  are 
then  softened  first  with  water,  and 
next  with  a  warm  alcaline  ley,  and 
are  heaped  warm  and  wet  on  each 
other,  by  which  means  the  parts 
indented  by  the  impression  regain 
much  of  their  elasticity,  and  ha- 
ving lost  none  of  their  substance  by 
paring,  rise  up  fully  to  the  level  of 
tlie  shaved  places,  and  thus  form 
the  grain  or  granular  texture  pecu- 
liar to  the  shagreen.  The  skin  is 
then  salted  and  dyed.  The  beau- 
tiful green  dye  is  given  by  soaking 
the  inner  or  flesh  side  of  the  skin 
with  a  saturated  solution  of  sal 
ammoniac,  strewing  it  over  with 
copper  filings,  rolling  it  up  with 
the  flesh  side  inwards,  and  pressing 
each  skin  with  a  considerable  weight 
for  about  twenty-four  hours,  in 
which  time  the  sal  ammoniac  dis- 
solves enough  of  the  copper  to  pe- 
netrate the  skin  with  a  fine  sea- 
green  colour.  This  operation  is 
repeated  a  second  time,  to  give  the 
colour  more  intensity. 

Blue  shagreen  is  dyed  with  indi- 
go, dissolved  in  a  solution  of  com- 
mon soda  by  means  of  lime  and 
honey.  Black  shagreen  is  dyed  with 
galls  and  common  vitriol  of  iron 
(sulphate  of  iron)  :  the  skins  are 
finished  with  oil  and  suet.  itt 


.  EASY  PROCESS  OF  MAKING  GLASS 
'  GLOBULES,  FOR  MICROSCOPIC 
j        PURPOSES. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  present 
i  century  the  simple  microscope  was 
;',  very  much  used.  Among  other  ad- 
i|  vantages,  it  possesses  the  very  de- 
ll sirable  requisites  of  simplicity  and 
I  cheapness.     In  particular,  it  is  an 


326 


REMEDY    FOR   THE   POISONOUS    EFFECT    OF    FALSE    MUSHROOMS. 


instrument  not  difEcult  to  be  con- 
structed by  sucb  ingenious  men, 
as,  by  narrow  circumstances  and 
remote  situations,  are  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  their  own  skill 
and  ingenuity  for  experimental 
implements.  The  history  of  inge- 
nious men  abounds  with  instances 
of  persons  of  eminence  who  come 
under  this  description.  To  them, 
at  least,  it  will  be  of  importance  to 
know  a  ready  met'.iod  of  forming 
very  bright  spherules  of  glass  for 
njicroscopic  uses,  either  for  the  sake 
of  rational  amusement  or  useful 
investigation. 

The  usual  method  has  been  to 
draw  out  a  fine  thread  of  the  soft 
white  glass  called  crystal,  and  to 
convert  the  extremity  of  this  into  a 
spherule,  by  melting  it  at  the  flame 
of  a  candle.  But  this  glass  con- 
tains oxide  of  lead,  wbich  is  dis- 
posed to  become  opaque  by  partial 
reduction,  unless  the  management 
be  very  carefully  attended  to;  but 
the  hard  glass  used  for  windows 
seldom  fails  to  aflord  excellent 
spherules.  This  glass  is  of  a  clear 
bright  green  colour  when  seen 
edgewise.  Cut  a  thin  piece  from 
the  edge  of  a  pane  of  glass,  less 
than  one-tenth  of  an  inch  broad  ; 
hold  it  perpendicularly  by  the  up- 
per end,  and  let  the  flame  of  a 
candle  be  directed  upon  it  by  the 
blow-pipe,  at  the  distance  of  about 
an  inch  from  the  lower  end.  The 
glass,  as  it  becomes  soft,  descends 
by  its  own  weight,  and  at  last  re- 
mains suspended  by  a  thin  thread. 
If  a  part  of  this  thread  of  glass  is 
applied  endwise  to  the  lower  blue 
flame  of  a  common  candle,  its  ex- 
tremity immediately  becomes  white 
hot,  and  forms  a  globule  ;  the  glass 
may  then  gradually,  and  very  re- 


gularly, be  t!>rust  towards  the  flame^ 
until  the  globule  has  acquired  a 
sufficient  size,  according  to  the 
focal  image  required;  and  the  glo- 
bules thus  obtained  will  answer  all 
the  purposes  of  the  simple  micro- 
scope, and  are  far  superior  to  the 
common  glass  globules  made  of 
white  or  flint  glass  met  with  in  the 

shops.  

REMEDY   FOR    THE   POISONOUS  EF* 
FECT    UF    FALSE    MUSHROOMS. 

Some  time  ago  a  family  of  sis 
persons,  residing  in  the  commune 
of  Sanions,  in    the  department  of 
the  Upper  Garonne,  were  poison- 
ed by  partaking  by  mistake  of  a 
dish  of  poisonous  mushrooms,  which 
was    ])repared    for    their    supper. 
They  were  all  speedily  seized  with 
drowsiness,   and  remained  several 
!i  hours  without  any  signs  of  life.    At 
day-break   they  awoke,  but  in  a 
I  state    of   perfect   imbecility;    the 
il  pulse  was  ver}-  low,  and  betokened 
I  speedy  death.     The  surgeon   fir.st 
\\  called,  wished  them  to  swallow  oil, 
j  but  none  was  to  be  procured.     An 
ij  ecclesiastic  who  was  called  in,  made 
j!  them    drink    plentifully    of    milk. 
I  Lonsj  and  violent  vomitings  came 
!  on,  and  the  remedy  succeeded  perr- 
!  fectly  ;  for  a  few  hours  after,  the 
j  whole  family  were  declared  out  of 
i  danger.     It  may  not  be  improper 
to  remind  our  readers,  that  lemon- 
juice,  and  other  vegetable  acids, 
have  been  found  a  remedy  for  the 
eff'ects  of  opium  ;  and  to  suggest, 
that  possibly  in  some  cases  of  poi- 
son by  mushrooms  they  might  be 
used  witli  advantage.    >    ,.,  ...^ 
,   ^,{, ,,  ji;  jogfta 

METHOD    OF    DETECTING   TH#i  1 
ADULTERATION    OF    TIN.        «•> 

Tin  of  commerce  frequently  cons 
talus  lead,  and  sometimes  also  a  [ni<: 


.t'r-^r     PROCESS  ron  ascertaining  thf.  purti  y  of  tin. 


327 


»tutc  portion  of  co[)|)er:  the  first  i  odour  of  the  ammonia  is  obvious  in 
nifctiil  there  is  reason  to  believe  is  I'tbt  mixture.  If  the  tin  contained 
IViiutlulcntly  added  by  mercenary  cop|)er,  the  lluid  will  have  ac- 
dealers;  and  tiie  latter  owes  its  pre-  ;j  (Quired,  from  the  addition  of  the 
sence  to  the  ores  of  copper  which  |;  liqaid  ammonia,  a  sapphire  blue 
ofien  accompan}'  the  ores  of  tin,  colour,  more  or  less  intense,  ac- 
and  the  metal  of  which  combines  I  cording  to  the  quantity  of  copper 
vviiii  the  tin  in  extractinir  it  from  I  that  was  contained  in  the  tin.  To 
its  ore.  j  assa>'the  liquid  for  lead,  add  to  an- 

'I'o  ascertain  the  purity  of  tin,  i,  other  portion  of  it  a  few  grains  of 
put  one  part  of  this  nretal,  reduced  [|  sulphate  of  potash  dissolved  in 
to  filings,  into  a  tea-cup,  or  other  'i  water,  which  will  occasion  a  white 
convenient  earthenuare  or  glass  '  pulverulent  precipitate,  if  lead  was 
\es.stl,  and  pour  over   it  not  les^j  '  contained  in  the  tin. 

than  three  or  four  parts  of  highly  i]  ■ 

concentrated  nitric  acid.  A  pro-  j  INSTRUCTIONS  FOR  MEASURINC  Tlii 
digiously  violent  action  will  take  I'  power  OF  a  currknt  of  WA- 
place;   at  the  moment   the  nitric         TF:;r,  so  as  to  asckrtain  whf- 


acid  comes  into  contact  \\ith  the 
tin,  copious  red  fumes  (nitrous  gas) 
are  disengaged,   and   the  mixture 


THER     IT     WILL      JUSTIFY     THE 
EREetUm   OF   A    MILL.         ■""^' 

The  Inqiiiry  which  niost  trHm^^ 


becomes  very  hot.  It  is  absolutely  !  diately  interests  landholders  anil 
necessary  that  the  operation  l)e  j  others  who  have  the  advantage  of 
performed  under  a  chimney,  or  out  a  current  of  water,  is  to  ascertain 
of  doors,  to  guard  the  operator  whether  it  will  afford  sufficient 
against  the  suffocating  elfect  of  the  power  to  justify  the  erection  of  a 
vast  quantity  of  red  vapour,  or  ni-  mill,  and  what  that  power  may  be. 
trous  gas,  which  becomes  extrica-  ,  If  the  stream  be  ample,  without 
ted  during  the  action  of  the  nitric  much  fall,  it  must  necessarily  be 
acid  upon  the  tin.  The  tin  be-  applied  to  move  an  nndersli6t 
comes  converted  into  a  bulky  white  '  wheel  by  its  impulse,  and  the  po^v- 
powder  (oxide  of  tin).  When  this  er  will  be  determinable  from  tl)e 
lias  beet»  effected,  pour  a  small  ,  velocity  of  tbewater, and  the  quati- 
quantity  of  distilled  water  upon  tity  which  passes  through  the  see- 
the mass,  so  as  to  form  it  into  a  tion  of  its  bed.  An  easy  methoif 
liquid  of  the  consistence  of  milk;  of  ascertaining  iheae  dati  is  i\}& 
stir  the  mixture  with  a  glass  rod,     follownv^^'Vi^''"'-^  ^  .5  ,  , 

afnd  sutler  it  to  stand  undisturbed  i  Observe  a' place  %vViere  Hie  banks 
till  the  supernatant  fluid  has  be-  ;  of  the  river  are  stccj)  and  nandlcl; 
come  clear.  If  the  white  powder,  i  so  as  to  make  a  kind  of  trough  for 
or  oxide  of  tin,  does  not  subside  |  the  water  to  run  through,  and  by. 
freely,  more  water  may  be  added,  taking  tlie  depth  across,  make  a 
to  elfect  a  dilution  of  the  mass.  1  true  section  of  the  river.  Streteh 
Tljeclear  fiuid  may  then  l>e  de-  ,  a  string  at  ri'::ht  angles  over  it,  ami 
canted  into  a  <vine-»>'las9,  arrd  ex-  ,1  at  a  small  distance  another  parallel 
aminedby  dropprrttr'tntO'it  fiqnid  f  to  the  fifirt'Vt^^P^'tA^c  =1"  ^PP^e,  an 
arnmonia^  $0  lon^tfll^^he'jtuiigem  f  orange',' or  any  dtfit?r  ^mall  bull. 
To/.  11.    So.  A//.  X  X 


.338    nEtiibJ)  of  measuring  the  powsii  of  a  current  of  water. 


just  so  much  lighter  than  water  as 
to  swim  ill  it,  and  throw  it  into  the 
vvatcM-  above  the  strings.  Observe 
when  it  conies  under  the  first  string, 
by  means  of  a  minute-watcl>,  or 
half-second  pendulum,  or  any  other 
instrument,  and  likewise  when  it 
arrives  at  the  second  string.  By 
this  means  the  velocity  of  the  up- 
per surface,  which  in  practice  may 
generally  be  taken  for  that  of  i!ie 
whole,  will  be  obtained.  The  sec- 
tion of  the  river  at  the  second  string 
must  be  ascertained  by  taking  the 
depth  as  before.  If  this  surface, 
or  section,  he  the  same  as  the  form- 
er, it  may  be  taken  for  the  mean 
section.  The  area  of  the  mean 
section  in  square  feet  being  then 
multiplied  by  tl-e  distance  between 
the  strings  in  feet,  wiU  give  the 
contents  of  the  water  in  solid  feet 
which  passed  from  one  string  to 
the  other  during  the  time  of  obser- 
vation ;  and  this,  by  the  rule  of 
three,  may  be  adapted  to  any  other 
portion  of  time.  Suppose,  for  ex- 
ample, the  tia)e  had  been  twelve 
seconds,  and  the  hourly  expendi- 
ture of  water  were  required,  the 
proportion  would  be,  as  12.  seconds 
are  to  3600  seconds,  so  is  the  num- 
ber of  cubic  feet  observed  to  tlie 
hourly  expenditure  in  cubic  feet. 
If  the  mere  velocity  be  required  in 
proportion  to  any  fixed  interval  of 
time,  the  same  proportion  will  give 
it,  provided,  instead  of  the  solid 
contents  in  the  third  term,  there  be 
taken  the  distance  between  string 
and  string.  tf  io  ,b.9?8  ,KRXJid  ; 

The  intelligent  observer  may  in 
genieral  abridge  the  operation,  by 
taking  notice  of  the  arrival  of  the 
floating  body  opposite  two  stations 
on  the  shore,  especiaily  wlien  it  is 
not  convenient  to  stretch  a  strins  , 


across.  The  arch  of  a  bridge  is  a 
good  station  for  an  experiment  of 
this  kind,  because  it  affords  a  very 
regular  section,  and  two  fixed 
points  of  observation  ;  and  in  some 
instances  the  sea  practice  of  hea- 
ving the  log  may  have  its  advan- 
tages. Where  a  second  or  stop- 
watch is  not  at  hand,  it  may  be 
equally  convenient  (provided  two 
observers  attend),  to  note  the  time 
with  a  half  or  quarter-second  pen- 
dulum. The  half-second  pendu- 
lum is  readily  made  by  suspending 
a  small  round  button,  or  othec 
round  weight,  by  a  thread,  looped 
over  a  pin  of  such  a  length  that  the 
distance  from  the  bend  of  the  loop 
to  the  centre  of  the  weight  shall  be 
O^V  inches.  The  quarter-second 
penduluni  is  one-fourth  of  this 
length.  If  by  observations  at  se- 
veral statioi>s  above  and  below  any 
particular  point  of  the  river,  the 
velocity  is  not  found  to  var}-,  the 
s.ection  of  the  river  in.  all  that  space 
may  be  concluded  to  be  uniform, 
and  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  de- 
termine more  than  one  section  lyy 
actual  measurement. 

In  the  case  of  an  overflovvin<r 
pond,  or  small  stream,  which  wilt 
admit  of  a  dam  across  it,  the  quan- 
tity of  water  afforded  may  be  as- 
certained with  facility  by  suffering 
it  to  run  through  a  notch  in  a  beard, 
or  a  vertical  hole  of  an  inch  square, 
it  bein<;  known  that  a  cubic  foot  of 
water  weighs  very  nearly  62|lbs. 
avoirdupois,  and  a  hogshead '  af 
water  weighs  about  550lhs.  fjitosffi' 

In  the  consideration  of  power,  or 
force,  to  be  derived  from  water  in 
motion,  the  waterinay  be  takemas 
a  determinate  mass  falling  through 
a  given  heiglit  in  a  given  time. 
In  order  that  this  descending  vreighb 


OF  JUDGING  or  THK  ADJUSTMliNT  OF  Till.  MAUJNFIt'S  COMPASS.     320 


may  cause  another  weight  to  asr- 
cetui,  or  may  overcome  some  re- 
sistance in  the  way  of  work,  with 
that  degree  of  speed  which  shall 
be  the  most  profitable,  it  is  neces- 
sary  that  the  resistance,  or  work  to 
be  done,  should  be  neither  too 
great  nor  too  Utile.  If  it  1)6  too 
grc:it,  the  slowness  of  operation  will 
diminish  the  quantity  of  work  ;  and 
if  it  be  too  small,  the  speed  will 
not  sufficiently  compensate  lor  this 
smallness.  When  the  power  is 
therefore  known,  it  remains  to  de- 
duce what  may  be  the  eifort.  The 
ertort  in  undersliot  mills,  in  the 
large  wa^*,  is  at  best  one»third  of 
the  power ;  that  is  to  say,  the  wheel 
being  driven  with  two-tiiths  of  the 
velocity  of  the  stream,  will  raised' 
quantity  of  water,  e(jual  to  one- 
third  of  the  column  which  strikes 
the  float-boards,  to  a  hti;^ht  equal 
to  that  of  the  vertical  head  or  fall ; 
and  the  effort  of  an  overshot  wheel 
will  be  at  a  medium  twice  that  of 
an  undershot  one. 


best  method  of  judging  of  the 
proper    adjustment   of    the 
mariner's  compass. 
.iTlie  mariner's  compass  is  an  ap- 
paratus in  which  a  magnetic  bar, 
calletl  the  needle,  is  supported  for 
the  highly  useful  purpose  of  deter- 
mining the  position  of  the  meri- 
dian at  sea,   and   consequently  of 
cnablingships  to  steer  their  course, 
l)y  day  or  night,  withoutobservation 
of  the  stars  or  any  other  external 
objects,  as    was    necessary   before  ti 
the   discovery  of  this  instrument. 
In    a   well-constructed    mariner's 
compass    the  needle   is    defended  J! 
from  the  impulse  of  the  air,  and  is  ' 
little  subject  to  be  disturbed  by  j 
tlie  external  motions  or  asritation  ' 


of  a  ship  at  sea.  As  this  disturb- 
ance is,  however,  the  chief  impedi- 
ment to  the  convenient  use  of  the 
compass  in  a  boat,  where  the  mo- 
tions are  sudden  and  short,  or  in  a 
ship  when  the  waves  are  ver}'  tur- 
bulent, and  as  the  artists  in  this 
branch  are  continually  persuading 
the  purchaser  that  certain  pieces 
of  mechanism  are  much  snperior  in 
their  use  to  others  differently  dis- 
posed, I  thought  it  might  be  of 
some  utilit}-  to  sa}-  a  few  words  on 
the  n^.eclianism  by  which  the  mari- 
ner's conq)ass  is  suspended,  so  as 
to  enable  the  mariner  to  discrimi- 
nate a  good  compass  from  a  bad 
one. 

When  the  needle  of  the  compass 
disposes  itself  in  the  magnetical 
meridian,  there  is  a  certain  line 
within  the  piece  of  steel  which 
joins  its  two  poles,  that  may  be 
considered  effectively  as  the  nee- 
dle itself.  But  as  this  line  is  not 
visible,  the  admeasurement  of  po- 
sition must  be  made  with  regard  to 
some  marks  on  the  extremity  of 
the  needle,  which  marks  will  be 
truly  placed  when  the  needle  is 
found  to  occupy  the  same  position, 
with  respect  to  a  fixed  point,  upon 
being  reversed,  so  that  the  lower 
side  shall  become  the  iq^per. 

The  needle  is  usually  supported 
on  a  steel  point,  which  occupies 
the  axis  of  a  cylindrical  box,  called 
the  compass-boK.  For  this  pur- 
pose there  is  formed  in  the  needle 
itself  a  ca|>  or  hollow  conical  centre 
of  brass,  steel,  or  hard  stone,  which 
is  applied  over  the  point.  The  ten- 
dency of  the  needle  to  be  disturbed 
by  agitation  will  greatly  depend 
upon  the  position  of  the  vertex  of 
the  conical  point.  It  is  necessary 
that  it  should  be  above  the  centre 
X  X  2 


330 


OF  JUDGING  OF  THE  ADJUSTMENT  OF  THK  MARINFIi'S  COMPASS. 


of  gravity;  but  this  distance  must 
be  so   small  that  the   libration  of 
the  needle,  when  one  end  is  de- 
j)ressed,  shall   be  very  slow,  and 
yet  speedy  enough  to  recover  the 
horizontal  position  in  a  reasonably 
short  time;  in  fact,  the  whole  of 
the  steadiness  of  the  compass  and 
its  box  depends  on  this  principle 
of  slow  vibration  ;  for  if  a  needle 
perform    its   vertical    vibration   in 
tMylit  seconds,  it  will  l)e  very  little 
disturbed    by   an   alternate  action 
that  lasts  but  a  second  or  two. 
,3]iThe  greater  number  of  workmen 
and  dealers  in  mariner's  compass- 
es imagine,  tlsat  tlie  agitation  of 
the  compass  is  comnmnicated  by 
friction  at  the  points  or  edges  of 
suspension,  and  have  accordingly 
,€iiX.erted   their  ingenuity  to  dimi- 
.pish  this  friction    by  contrivances 
similar  to  that  of  a  conical  cap  ba- 
lanced on  a  point,  and  itself  afford- 
ing another  point  to  siupport  the 
needle;  but  it  is  very  readily  pro- 
ved   by  the  quantity  ot  horizontal 
progressive  motiouy  and  not  by  the 
mere   inclination   or   angular  mo- 
tion, A  compass-needle, supported 
_  on  a  sin^ple  point,  will  suiTer  very 
Jittle  agitation    from   any  angular 
motion,  or  modcratedirection  from 
V,  perpendicularity  in  the  pin,  but  it 
:  y/ill   instantly  begin  to  vibrate  if 
moved     horizontally.      Thus    the 
common  expirlmt  iit,  as  shewn  fre- 
quently by  the.dca'iers in  compasses, 
of  tilting  the  compass-box   in   all 
positions,  wh.ile  its  centre  remains 
imniov(able,  in  certai/i/i/ fallacious, 
.   and  tlcie  are  very  few  com|)as.ses 
^indeed  which  will  bear  to  be  slided 
^, backwards  and  forwards  on  a  table. 
b.?;'^^PP^'^'''*j  therefore,  that  the  stea- 
■  i^iness  of  a  needle   which  vibrates 
IJpwIy,  is  the  consequence  not  only 


of  the  length  of  time  it  allows  fof 
alternate  actions  to  operate  and 
destroy  each  other,  but  also  of  the 
difficulty  with  which  it  yields  to 
such  impressions.  If  the  centre  of 
suspension  and  of  gravity  in  the 
needle  were  coincident,  no  angu- 
lar motion  would  be  produced  by 
any  action  of  the  pin,  excepting 
by  the  effects  of  friction;  and  the 
angular  motion  {)roduced  in  other 
cases  will  be  less  the  shorter  the 
distance  between  these  two  centres, 
or  the  lever  by  which  it  is  propa- 
gatedi .liiw  afe^q/i:  ■i?.oq^b ■ 

The  simple    suspension    of  the 
needle  on  a  point  has  been  applied 
to  the  compass-box,  for  which  it  is 
little  suited,  not  only  because  of  the 
wear  upon  so  small  a  surface,  but 
also  because  it  admits  the  box  to 
i^averse    horizontally;    an    effect 
which  is  inconvenient,  and  cannot 
be   remedied    by   any    means    not 
calculated  in  some  resjjects  to  in- 
crease the  eHects  of  agitation.  The 
I  method   most   generally   received, 
and  in  fact  the  best  adapted  to  this 
:  instrument,  is  the  gimbals.^    This 
I  well-known  contrivance  consists  of 
I  a  hoop  supported   upon  two  pins, 
I  diametrically     opposite    to     each 
I  other,  and  issuing  from  the  exter- 
j  nal  surface  of  the  ring  in  such  a 
}  direction  that  both  lie  in  the  same 
diametrical  line.     When  the  hoop 
is  suspended  on  these  pins,  it  is  at 
liberty   to  turn   freely    round  the 
diameter  of  which  they  constitute 
the  prolongation.  The  notches,  or 
holes  of  support,  are  disposed  ho- 
rizontally.    The  compass-box  it- 
self is  placed  in  a  similar  ring  with 
two  projecting  pivots,    and  these 
pivots  are  inserted  in   holes  made 
ia  the    former  ring,    at  an   equal 
distance  from  each  of  its  pivots,. 


.r.*;^'ll'• 


PIIF.PARATION    OF    INDIGO. 


331 


If,'  therefore,  we  suppose  the  whole 
to  be  lelt  at  liberty,  tlje  conipass- 
l>ox  may  vibrate  upon  the  diame- 
trical line  of  the  outer  rini;,  atid 
also  iipoii^a  line  formed  by  its  own 
pivots  at  right  angles  to  that  dia- 
metrical line.  'I'he  consequence 
of  this  arrangement  is,  that  the 
centre  of  gravity  of  the  compass- 
box  will  dispose  itself  inmiediatcly 
beneath  the   intersection    of   both 


to  add,  that  the  means  of  this  ad- 
justment consist  in  shifcinf;  the 
pivotsthemselves,  or,whichis  much 
better,  in  altering  the  disposition 
of  weiglit  about  the  compass-box. 
An  external  ring  of  metal,  encir- 
cding  the  box,  and  raised  or  lowered 
until  the  j^ropt-r  place  for  fixing 
it  is  found,  affords  the  most  con- 
venient method. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  reader  will 


lines  on  which  it  is  at  liberty  to  !  perceive,  that  the leadingainiofthiji 
move;  that  is  to  say,  if  the  weight  i  paper  is  to  enforce  the  truth,  that 
of  the  box  or  its  parts  be  properly  the  mariner's  compass  is  very  little 
disposed,  the  compass  will  assume  ;  disturbed  atseaor elsewhere  liv  tilt- 
a  position  in  which  its  upper  sqr-  '  ing  the  box  on  one  side,  but  very 
face  shall  be  horizontal.  ''  much  by  suddett  horizontal  changes 

With  regard  to  the  practical  ap-  1  of  places;  and,  consequently,  that 
plication  of  these  inferences,  with-  a  scientific  provision  against  the 
out  pretending,  as  is  frequently  I  latter  isthe  chief  requisite  in  a  well- 
done,  that  any  particular  secret  or  i|  made  instrument  of  this  kind  :  and, 
great  discovery  is  required  to  give  j  again,  that  the  best  method  of  as- 
stability  to  this  useful  instrument,  j  certaining  the  goodness  and  excel- 
nothing  more  is  required  than  good  lence  of  a  compass,  is  to  slide  it 
xvorkmanship,  and  a  proper  ad-  upon  a  table  in  the  several  direc- 
justment  of  the  weight  with  regard  tions  above-mentioned,  and  to  re- 
to  the  centres  or  axes  of  sus])en-     mark  how  far  it  is  disturbed,  or,  in 


sion.  The  middle  ought  to  bead- 
justed  either  by  means  of  its  cap, 
or  bv  proper  filing  away,  or  else  bv 
additional  pieces  to  the  card,  so 
that  it  shall  vibrate  very  little,  and 


other  words,  to  what  extent  it  pos- 
sesses stability.  The  good  work- 
manship of  the  cap  and  pin  of  the 
needle  may  be  ascertained  by  in- 
spection with  a  magnifier,  and  also 


degree  out  of  its  section  or  original 
position. 


that  slowly,  when  ]ihiced  upon  a  l)y  drawing  the  card  with  a  small 
point  and  moved  horizontally,  ji  key,  or  other  piece  of  iron,  a  very 
whether  in  the  direction  of  the  nee-  |!  little,  for  example,  a  quarter  of  a 
tile,  or  at  right  angles  to  that  direc- 
tion. The  card  is  then  ready  for 
the  compass-box.     The  box  itself 

must  be  adjusted  with  the  card  in   .  prfpahation  of  indigo. 

its  place,  so  that  it  shall  exhiliit  the  jj  The  fine  blue  colour  called  indi- 
same  steadiness  when  moved  in  the  go,  although  it  is  not  so  pure  and 
lineof  direction  of  theouter  pivots;  'bright  a  colour  as  the  pigment 
and,  lastly,  the  same  disposition  j  called  Prussian  blue,  has  thecapi- 
must  be  made  with  regard  to  the  tal  advantage,  that  it  is  more  per- 
motion  in  the  direction  of  the  in-  j  manent  than  the  latter  colour  ;  and 
fier  pivots.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  ii  therefore  indigo  is  largely  used  i^ 


532 


UiC:  ttta'MAs  ¥bMkiNS.'''v>i'ii^T.K 


water-colour  drawing.  Indigo  is 
the  pulverulent  pulp,  or  fecula,  se- 
parated from  the  fibres  and  juiee 
of  the  indigo  plant  ( Indigofera  tirtc- 
toria,  L.),  of  which  there  are  se- 
veral varieties,  and  which  are  cul- 
tivated for  the  production  of  the 
pigment  in  America  and  the  West 
Indies.  The  following  is  the  pre- 
paration of  the  indigo  : — The  plant 
being  cut  when  ripe,  is  put  into 
large  troughs  or  vats,  with  a  quan- 
tity of  water,  and  pressed  down. 
It  undergoes  a  species  of  fermen- 
tation; the  water  becomes  turbid  ; 
and  when  the  fermentative  process 
lias  sufficiently  advanced,  the  wa- 
ter is  drawn  off  into  another  vat, 
where  it  is  ke[)t  constantly  agitated 
to  promote  the  separation  of  the 
colouring  matter  of  the  plant.  I'o- 
wards  the  end  of  this  stage  of  the 
operation,  a  portion  of  lime-water 
is  added,  which  precipitates  an  ad- 


ditional portion  of  the  colouring 
matter;  It  begins  therefore  now 
to  subside.  The  liquor  is  with- 
drawn into  another  vessel,  in  which 
the  deposition  is  allowed  to  goon; 
the  clear  fluid  above  is  again  drawn 
off;  the  semi-fluid  sediment  at  the 
bottom  is  received  into  linen  bags, 
throucrh  which  the  adhering  fluid 
strains:  the  indigo  remains  in  tlie 
state  of  a  paste,  which  is  dried  by 
exposure  to  the  air  in  tlie  shade- 
The  produced  indigo  differs  con- 
siderably in  its  qualities,  according 
to  the  species  of  the  plant,  its  state 
with  regard  to  maturity,  and  the 
care  and  skill  with  which  the  ope- 
ration has  been  conducted.  It  is 
generally  packed  in  chests  of  about 
200  lbs.  weight  each.  The  very 
tine  kind  that  comes  from  Guati- 
mala  is  usually  wrapped  up  iti 
goat's  skin.  ''"  e'^'^" 

.'iUli'JDqe: 

■;om  bad 
— ^r*  ^Jdi  -^d 


BIOGUAPHICAL  SKETCHES  AND  ANECDOTES. 


-«!sJ>>^'*^*i» 


MR.  THOMAS  TOMKINS. 


This  celebrated  penman,  wjiose 
professional  talents  were  surpassed 
only  by  the  excellence  of  his  pri- 
vate character,  died  on  the  5th  of 
September  last,  at  his  house  in 
Sermon-lane,  Doctors'  Commons, 
in  the  74th  year  of  his  age.  Of 
his  performances  in  ornamental 
writing  it  is  impossible  to  speak 
too  highly.  For  boldness  of  de- 
sign, inexhaustible  variety,  and 
elegant  freedom,  he  is  justly  con- 
sidered as  having  attained  the  ne 
plus  ultra  of  the  art.  ;  ., 

Among  his  very  punxerowi^^vejcks 
iarethe  following :-j^tiji£o't  511  it  ' 


A  Transcript  of  the  Charter  grant* 
ed  by  King  Charles  II.  to  the 
Irish  Society,  containing  150. fot^ 
lio  pages.  «.  ,  /;?vu 

Titles  to  many  splendid  editions 
of  valuable  books,  particularly 
Macklin's Bible;  Thomson's«Sm* 
sons;  the  Houghton  Collection 
of  Prints,  &c. 

A  Transcript  of  Lord  Nelson's  Let- 
ter announcing   his    Victory   at 
Aboukir,  which  was  engravjed  and>. 
published.     ,.au  sis//  vsrli  .^miuj' 

Titles  to  three  volumes  of  manu- 
script Music  presented  iOu.,tli^- 
King  by  Mr.  Linley.i'Jj   tjldi^tui* 


MATRIMONY,    OR    FAULTS    ON    BOTH    SIDES. 


333 


Honorary  Freedoms  presented  to 
^li■^til)yuislled  naval  and  military 
ofticers  for  tlicirs])lcndid. achieve- 
ments in  all  parts  of  the  globe 
during  the  last  forty  years;  fram- 
ed duplicates  of  whicii  may  be 
seen  in  the  Chamber  of  the  city 
of  London.     U'o  these  exquisite 
specimens  of  calligraphy  we  took 
occasion   to  direct  the  attention 
of  the  reader  in  a  late  number 
of  our  Miscellany. 
Addresses  to  their  Majesties  on  ma- 
ny pviblic  occasions,  particularly 
from   the   Jloyal    Academy,  du- 
plicates   of   which   were   unani- 
mously voted  to  he  preserved  in 
the  library  as  choice  specimens 
of  ornamental  jieumanship. 
I\Ir.  Tomkins    was    well    known 
and  highly   rcspectetl  by  the  most 
eminent  painters  his  contempora- 
ries, and    possessed    many    choice 
specimens  of  their  abilities,  w  hich 
had  mostly  been  preseuled  to  him  j 
by  the  respective   artists.     A    few  | 
years  since  be  appeared  bebn^e  the  ' 


public  in  the  character  of  an  au- 
thor in  an  elegant  and  instructive 
publication,  entitled  *'llays  of  Ge- 
nius collected  to  enliven  the  Rising 
Generation,"  in  two  8vo.  volumes. 

In  the  private  character  of  Mr. 
Tomkins  benevolence  was  a  pro- 
minent feature.  Never  did  airy 
one  more  diligently  study  the  hap- 
piness of  those  with  whom  he  was 
connected,  or  more  assiduously  la- 
bour to  promote  it.  His  religious 
principles  were  strictly  th(jseof  the 
Church  of  England  ;  the  king  bad 
not  a  more  dutiful  subject,  nor  the 
constitution  a  friend  by  whom  it 
was  more  revered. 

A  very  fine  portrait  of  Mr.  Tom- 
kins was  painted  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  believed  to  be  the  last 
which  that  distinguished  painter 
finished;  from  which  there  is  a 
good  mezzotinto  by  Charles  Tur- 
ner. Another  good  portrait  of  him 
was  painted  by  Engleheart:  an  en- 
graving from  it  by  L-  Schiavonetti, 
is  prefixed  to  his  "Rays  of  Genius." 


MATRIMONY,  OR  FAULTS  ON  BOTH  SIDES. 

Charles  FuANKLAND  and  Emily  ,  their  dispositions  were  in  some  re- 
Danvers  made  what  is  called  a  love-  u  spects  diametrically  opposite.  The 
match  at  a  very  early  age.  They  understanding  of  Charles  was  of 
were  both  very  handsome,  very  the  highest  order,  and  had  besides 
lively,  and  very  inconsiderate;  and  |  been  sedulously  cultivatetl :  though 
it  never  struck  either,  that,  with  lively  and  thoughtless,  be  was  not 
youth,  beauty,  and  good-humour,  of  a  dissipated  turn,  and  when  il;e 
the  marriage  state  could  pnssii)ly  1  honey-moon,  or  rather  let  me  say 
be  unhappy.  Birth  and  I'ortuno  i  the  honey-quarter,  for  be  it  re- 
were  equal  on  both  sides;  tlu-y  were  j  corded  for  the  honour  of  matrimony, 
therefore  pronounced  a  very  suita-  i  iheir  happiness  lasted  three  whole 
ble  match,  and  within  six  weeks  i  months,  liad  expired,  he  wanted  a 
after  they  were  introduced  to  each  |,  cheerful  and  intelligent  companion: 
other,  they  were  united  for  life.      j,  but  wlien  he  found  that  he  hud  only 

It  happened,  however,  that  this  j  agav  trifler,  or  a  beautiful  doll,  the 
suitable  match  was  the  most  un-  ]  torch  of  love  began  to  burn  (.Wmy 
suitable    thin?  in   the  world,    for    the  fine  features  which  he  bad  so 


S3A 


MATKIMONY,    OR    FAULTS    ON    BOTH   SIDES. 


often  gazed  upon  with  transport, 
appeared  almost  plain,  and  twelve 
months  had  not  elapsed  beiore 
Charles  had  more  than  once  won- 
dered what  had  induced  him  to 
marry. 

Let  us,  however,  do  justice  to 
Emily ;  her  defects  were  not  those 
of  nature  but  education.  Bronohc 
up  with  the  most  extravagant  opi- 
nion of  her  beauty,  fortune,  and 
understanding,  she  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  consider  only  herself,  that 
it  never  struck  her  it  could  be  ne- 
cessary to  think  about  any  one  else. 

It  is  true,  no  expense  had  been 
spared  for  her  education,  but  siie 
never  applied  closely  to  any  thing, 
and  although  neither  arrogant  nor 
vain,  she  yet  heard  so  repeatedly 
that  she  was  extremely  clever  and 
very  higlily  accomplished,  that  she 
never  doubted  her  being  so  in  rea- 
lity ;  and  accustomed  to  hurry  from 
one  scene  of  dissipation  to  another, 
she  had  no  idea  of  home,  but  as  a 
place  to  which  she  could  retire 
when  she  was  weary  of  being  abroad, 
and  in  which  she  could  return  the 
dinners  and  suppers  of  her  friends. 

Emily   had,  however,  an  excel- 
lent heart,  an  amiable  temper,  and 
a  good  tliough  not  brilliant  under 
standing.     She  sincerely  loved  her 
husband,  and  would  have  been  glad 
to  enjoy  more  of  his  company,  hut  j 
then  she  was  so  engaged  that  she  | 
really  had  no  time  in  the  first  place,  i 
and  in  the  next  she  was  afraid  of  ! 
being  laughed  at  if  she  was  disco-  i 
vered    to    entertain    such    Gothic  j 
ideas.    More  than  a  year  had  elaps-  j 
ed,  and  Enjily  could  not  help  per-  ' 
ceiving  that  her  husband,  when  she 
did   see  him,  had    no   longer   that 
tenderness  of  manner  which   dis- 
tinguished  him    during    the    fust 


months  of  their  union;  but  she 
endeavoured  to  hide  the  qhauge 
from  herself,  and  when  she  could 
not  succetd,  bhe  drove  the  subject 
froni  hertiioiiglits.  Alas!  the  time 
soon  arrived,  when  the  terrible 
truth  couLi  not  be  concealed,  v\i»en 
she  was  but  too  surely  convinced 
that  she  had  lost  a  heart,  the  value 
of  which  she  did  not  know  till  she 
found  it  was  gone  she  feared  for 
ever. 

Cliance  had  tlirown  in  the  way 
of  Mr.  Frankland  an  interesting 
girl,  who,  from  a  succession  of 
misfortunes,  was  reduced  to  a  state 
of  the  most  abject  distress,  and 
what  rendered  her  situation  truly 
pitiable,  was,  that  both  from  her 
education  and  the  uncommon  deli- 
cacy of  her  frame,  it  was  impossi- 
ble ibr  her  to  struggle  with  those 
ills  which  the  children  of  pover.ty 
are  obliged  to  endure.  She  was 
going  home  one  evening  witli  some 
work  which  she  iiad  been  rather 
late  in  finishing,  when  she  was  fol- 
loweci  \yy  a  half-intoxicated  puppy, 
who  addressed  her  in  a  strain  of 
ribaldry  and  impertinence,  that 
roused  the  indignation  of  Frank- 
land,  who  happened  to  walk  near 
enough  to  overhear  him.  Con- 
vinced the  girl  was  modest,  he  spi- 
ritedly desired  her  persecutor  to 
walk  off,  a  piece  of  advice  which 
the  otlier,  who  was  a  mere  dastard, 
did  not  hesitate  to  follow;  and  then 
insisted  upon  seeing  the  young  per- 
son, whose  name  was  Charlotte 
Mordant,  safe  to  her  lodging.   ,, 

The  matter  would  probably  have 
ended  there,  had  not  the  emacia- 

j  ted    appearance   of   the    poor  girl 
struck    the    benevolent    .hf:i||r,t    of 

i  Frankland  with  p|ity  ;,  be,  n»^ul^  in- 
quiries coQceruiug  lier,   and  they 


MATRIMONY,   OR    FAULTS   ON    BOTH   SIDES. 


:355 


were  so  satisfactorily  answcreditliat 
lie  resolved  to  place  her  in  a  better 
situation  ;  but  helore  he  coii'ld  exe- 
cute his  design  she  was  taken  sud- 
denly and  violently  ill,  and  for  some 
time  hcT  life  was  despaired  of. 

When  she  recovered,  and  found 
that  she  owed  her  existence  to  the 


dh'ii-lbtte,  betrayed  to  bcr  the  cause 

IMiie  indijrnation  of  Emily  on 
receiving;-  this  mortifying  intelli- 
gence, was  as  great  as  if  she  bad 
bt;eu  the  most  faultless  wife  in  the 
world.  Her  first  impulse  was  to 
upbraid  ber  husband  with  his  per 


humanity  of  Franklaud,  her  gra-  ,  fidy,  but  from  this  imf)rudent  step 
titude  \\as  excessive,  and  as  she  j  she  was  fortunately  prevented  by 
knew   not  that  be  was  married,  it     a  sensible  female  friend,  who  bap- 


soon  assumed,  unfortunately  for 
lier,  too  tender  an  appearance. 
Although  Frankland  felt  every  day 
it  softer  sentiment  for  her,  he  had 
the  weakness  to  conceal  a  circum- 
stance, the  knowledge  of  which 
would  have  saved  them  both.  It 
was  some  time  before  he  would  own 
even  to  himself  the  nature  of  bis 
regard  for  Charlotte,  but  when  his 
eyes  were  at  length  opened,  be 
determined  to  see  her  no  more; 
he  went  resolved  to  bid  her  fare- 
well, but  he  found,  or  fancied  he 
found,  some  reason  for  seeing  ber 
once  more,  and  thus  their  inter- 
course continued,  till  a  moment  of 
weakness  plunged  them  both  into 
guilt,  and  F'rankland  persuaded 
himself  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  atiandon  one  who  had  been  the 
victim  of  a  too  tender  affection  for 
him,  as  he  thought  it  too  probable  ;|  wisely,"  cried  she,  '*'  by  bteaking 


penedtocall  upon  her  almost  imme- 
diately after  the  discovery.  The 
agitation  and  tears  of  Emily  shock- 
ed and  surprised  this  lady,  whom 
we  shall  call  Mrs.  Colbert,  and  she 
entreated  to  know  the  cause  of  it 
in  such  friendly  terms,  that  Mrs. 
Frankland  relieved  ber  full  heart 
by^ relating  to  her  the  whole  aiFair. 
Mrs.  Colbei-i  decidedly  disappi^b- 
ved  of  her  intention  to  speak  to 
Ft-ankland  upon  the  subject;  but 
the  indignant  Emily  declared,  in 
the  most  peremptory  terms,  that 
shd  would  insist  upon  Fraiikland 
dismissing  the  infamous  creature, 
or  if  he  refused  to  do  it,  she  would 
i  quit  him  for  ever.  _         . 

!  We  shall  not  repeat  the  si?nsi- 
i  ble  arguments  with  which  INTrs. 
I  Colbert  combated  this  rash  reso- 
;  lution.     "  You  will  act  much  mOre 


that  his  desertion  might  break  her 
heart. 

While  he  was  thus  lost  in  the 
delirium  of  a  guilty  passion,  a  fit 
of  severe  illness  awakened  Emily, 
for  the  fiht  time  in  her  life,  to  se- 
rious reflection.  The  cold  inqui- 
ries which  Frankland  made  from 
time  tb^tiffrie  after  Hier  health,  com- 
pletely opened  lier  eyes  to  the 
alienation  of  his  affections,  and 
the  Midiscr^tion  of  heV(v(Jt(iah,  U'ho 
had'  discov'ehjd  his  intrigue  with 

To/.  J  I.  Xo.  XI L 


off  the  connection,  if  you  can  do 
so,  through  the  means  of  tlie  girl 
herself;'  though  fallen  from  virtue,' 
she  may  not  be  utterly  <lt  praved  ; 
and  your  interference  would  tbeif 
remain  a  secret  to  Frankland.  As 
to  menacing  him,  believe  me,  deaif 
Emily,  by  doing  so  you  will  pro- 
bably convert  what  may  be  only  a 
transient  attachment  to  anoihet, 
into  a  settled  aversion  to  yourself^ 
iVt  pr^sertt  ydti'  have  every  cbarice 
of  4ooiV  redbVerVng  rour  whrtdtr- 

y  V 


33Q 


MATRIMONY,    OU    iAULTS   ON    BOTH    SiSfeS-. 


er^s  heart;  do  not,  I  beseech  yon, 
by  an  indiscretion  you  will  forever 
repent,  deprive  yourself  of  so  de- 
licious a  prospect." 

The  conscience  of  Emily  assist- 
ed the  arguments  of  Mrs.  Colbert 


Mrs.  Frankland  replied  only  by 
a  faint  smile.  From  that  day,  how- 
ever, she  entirely  altered  her  con- 
duct; no  longer  devoting  her  morn- 
ings and  evenings  to  dissipation, 
the  former  were  passed   in    ciiiti- 


very  powerfully  ;  she  felt  that,  how-  vating   her  talents,  and  the  latter 

ever  blameahle  her  husband's  be-  j  in  a   moderate  use  of  those  plea- 

haviour  had  l>eeri,  she  was  not  her-  sures  whiclibad  before  occupied  her 

self  free  from  fault.   Her  reflections  I  whole  time.     This  chan<re  in   his 

I 

on  her  own  conduct  made  her  soon  j  wife's  conduct  was    almost   unob- 

listen  very  patiently  to  Mrs.  Col-'  served byFrankland,whosethoughis 
bert,    and    she   begged    of  her    to  for  some  time  were  wholly  engross- 
endeavour  to  find  out  what  sort  of  ,  ed    bj^  plans    for  discovering    the^ 
person  the  fair  frail  one  was.     Mrs.  j  retreat  of  Charlotte,  and  when  he- 
Colbert  soon   contrived   to  obtain  j  found  that  impossible,  he  flew  to 
an  interview  with  the  unhappy  girl,  the  gaming-table  as  a  relief  from 


whose  grief  and  remorse,  when  she 
found  that  Frankland  was  married, 
convinced  her,  that  thtHugh  fallen 
she  was  yet  reclaimable;  and  her 
account  induccnl  Emily  to  think  of 
giving  her  an  allowance  sufficient 
for  all  the  decent  comforts  of  life, 
provided  she  would  retire  into  the 
country,  and  enter  iivto  a  solemn 
engagement  to  see  Frankland  no 
more. 


thoughts  which  distracted  him,  and 
sometimes  he  was  whole  weeks  to-" 
gether  without  seeing  his  wife.  '{''<i 
The  spirits  of  Emily  flagged,  ancV' 
her  cheek  lost  its  bloon),  but  her 
conduct  remained  unaltered;  and^ 
what  she  began  from  the  hope  of. 
recovering  her  husband's  affectionj. 
she  soon  from  habit  continued,  be- 
cause inclination  as  well  as  feasdi* 
told  her,  that  this  new  disposition.' 


From  motives  which  did   honour  |l  of   her  time   was  equally  rational 


to    her  heart,  Mrs.  Frankland    re- 
quested her  friend  to  let  Charlotte 


and  pleasant.  ■it  rjubuQo  aid  iti 

When  our  youn^  couple'  were 


suppose  that  she  was  herself  related     united,  pin-money  was  not  thought 


to  Frankland,.  and  that  the  money- 
was  to  come  from  het.  '"  If  she  is 
really  what  you  describe  lier,"  said 
Emily,  "her  lot  will  be  sufficiently 
bitter  without  our  addin^g  to  it  the 
stinging  reflection,  that  she  owes 
the  means  of  existence  to  one  whom 
she  has  deeply  though  unconsci- 
ously iniured." 

Her  friend  embraced  her.  "  This 


of  on  either  side,  and  for  some  time 
the  naturally  generous  disposition 
of  Frankland  induced  him  to  an- 
ticipate his  wife's  demands^  but 
an  ill  run  of  luck  at  the  gaming- 
table embarrassed  him  vtry  much, 
and  Emily  found  her  s^ipplies  more 
scanty  and  very  irregular*.  This 
would  have  given  her  no  uneasi- 
ness on  her  own  account,  but  she 


sentiment  is  worthy  of  you,  my  ;i  could  not  bear  to  deprive  Charlotte- 
Emily,"  cried  she;  "only  act  as  jj  of  any  part  of  the  sum  she  had  a« 
rightly  as  you  think,  and  trust  me,  ij  first  ])roposed  to  allow  her,  «nd 
the  time  cannot  be  far  distant  wh^/i  ||  she  was  frequently  reduced  to  very 
Frankland  will  fully  appreciate  the  j!  humiliating  expetlients  in  ai"der  t* 
value  of  the  treasure  he  possesses."     raise  the  money. 


MATRIMONY,    OU   FAV'LTS   ON    BOTH  SIDES. 


.  At  the  end  of  two  years  a  dis- 
tant relation  i\\ed,  and  left  lienu 
little  estate,  which  produced  about 
a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a 
year.  Tliis  bequest  gave  her  much 
pleasure,  because  she  iiiten  led  to 
raake  it  over  at  once  to  C'liurlotte, 
whose  re»;ular  and  prudent  con- 
duct gave  every  promise  that  she 
would  never  relapse  into  vice.  Mrs. 
ColluTt  managed  the  matter  for' 
lier,  a  deed  of  Ljift  was  made  out, 
but  the  very  day  before  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  signed  it,  she  was  surprised 
by  receiving  in  her  dre^ing-room 
a  visit  from  her  husband. 

We  must  observe,  that  there 
seemed  to  be  a  tacit  agreement 
entered  into  hy  this  pair,  to  let 
polite  indifference  take  [)lace  i»f 
tenderness  on  both  sides  without 
reproach.  Emily,  though  she  fond- 
ly loved  Frankland,  felt  so  much 
pique  at  his  continued  indifFerence, 
that  her  manner  was  invariably 
cold,  and  as  he  did  not  suspect  the 
cause  of  this  coldness,  he  fancied 
lier  love  was  extinct ;  and  without 
troubling  himself  to  inquire  how 
far  his  conduct  had  been  the  cause, 
he  set  her  down  for  a  frivolous,  in- 
sensible being,  incapable  of  feel- 
ing an  ardent  affection. 

Impressed  with  this  idea,  he  felt 
infinitely  mortified  at  the  necessity 
he  found  himself  under  of  asking 
a  favour  from  her,  and  he  entered 
the  room  with  an  air  of  assumed 
sprightliness,  which  did  not  con- 
ceal his  chagrin. 

After  a  Ijttle  chat  on  indifferent 
subjects,  "  1  am  afraid,  Emily," 
said  he^^^ you  have  had  cause  to 
complain  of  me  in  a  pecuniary  way 
of  late.  The  truth  is  I  have  been 
a  lifetlfi-4ri-»?K,  )H«J  hesitated,  but 
endeavouring  to  recover  his  self- 


possession,  he  added  hastily,  "  a 
little  foolish.  I  have  ventured 
more  than  I  ought  to  lose  at  play, 
and  perhaps  I  may  be  thankful 
that  my  property  is  so  tied  up  that 
I  can  neither  sell  nor  mortgage 
it.  I  am,  however,  greatly  dis- 
tressed for  money  at  this  moment, 
and  must  by  some  means  raise  one 
thousand  pounds.  I  know  that  the 
little  estate  which  Mr.  S.  left  you 
is  free  from  all  restriction,  and  if 
you  would  procure  for  me  that  sum 
upon  it,  I  can,  by  retrenching  a 
little,  save  it  in  a  short  time,  and' 
you  shall  then   have  it  clear." 

He  paused,  surprised  to  see  Emi- 
ly pale  and  agitated;  he  looked  at 
her  earnestly,  but  she  remained 
;!>ilent;  at  last  he  said,  somewhat 
haughtily,  "If  my  proposal  is  dis- 
agreeable to  you,  Mrs.  Frankland, 
pray  say  so;  I  sliall  not  press  the 
measure,  if  it  is  unpleasant  to  you." 
Sensibly  wounded  both  by  his 
speech  and  the  tone  in  which  it 
was  uttered,  Emily  exclaimed, "  In- 
deed you  wrong  me!  I  would  most 
gladly  give  it  up,  but  it  is  no  longer 
mine  to  give." 

"  How,  madam  !"  cried  the  asto-P 
nished    Frankland,    "  do   you   tell 
me  you  have  j^arted  with  it? 

Emily  faintly  uttered,  "  Indeed 
I  have."  ^i 

"  Really,"  said  Frankland,  in  et' 
tone  of  scorn,  '*  this  evasion  is  a 
very  poor  one.  ^'ou  have  no  rela- 
tion, no  friend  in  distress ;  and  even 
if  you  had,  a  husband  has  a  right 
to  he  consulted.  Indeed,  Mrs. 
Frankland,  I  have  been  much  de- 
ceived in  your  disposition :  how- 
ever, I  have  done  with  the  subject 
forever."  He  rose  and  was  leaving 
the  room,  but  Emily,  who  saw  that 
every  thing  depended  upon  the  uae 

\    Y  2 


33S 


MATRIMONY,   Oil  FAULTS   ON    BOTH   SIDES. 


she  made  of  that  moment,  caught 
his  liand  and  burst,  intp  tears. 

"  Hear   me,   Fraiiklaud  I"  cried 
she:  ''the  deed   by  which  I  liave 
conveyed  this  little  estate  to  ano- 
ther is  indeed  made  out,  but  not 
signed;    suffer   me   to    explain    to  I 
you  the  reasons  which  have  induced  j 
nie  to  make  this  gift,  and  then,  if! 
you  wish,  it  shall  be  revoked."         ; 
Frankhmd    seated    himself,   and  , 
she  continued:  "  Chance  threw  an  ! 
aniiable  and  susceptible  girl  in  the 
way  of  a  man  formed  to  captivate; 
this   man,  unfortunately  for  both,  j 
was  married;  and  had  his  wife  taken  i 
pains  to  render  his  home  a  happy  | 
one,  it  is  probable  he  would   not ' 
liave  souglit  for  pleasure  out  of  it.  i 
The   contrary   was    the  case :    she 
was  young,  vain,  and  admired ;  and  1 
in  the  whirl  of  dissipation  she  for- 
got, that  the  wife  whose  sole  virtue 
is  fidelity  has  a  slender  hold  in- 
deed on  the  affections  of  her  hus- 
band.    Thus  linked  to  a  being  who  j 
was  wedded  to  pursuits  opposite  j 
both   to  his    taste  and  principles,  i 
the  unhappy  man  sought  for  con-  j 
solution  in  the  society  of  this  young  ; 
female,  v\hom  I  sliall  call   Maria,  j 
She  was  poor,  he  relieved  her  ne- 
cessities, and  for  some  time  love 
concealed  itself  under  the  mask  of 
gratitude  on  her  side,  and  friend- 
ship on  his.     His  heart  is  loo  good 
to  draw  her  intentionally  from  the 
path  of  rectitude,  hut  it  was  im- 
possible  for   such    an   intercourse 
Jong  to  continue  without  the  most 
fatal  consequences. 

"In  the  mean  time  Ills  wife  awoke 
from  the  stupor  in  which  dissipa- 
tion had  lulled  her  principles  and 
feelings;  she  looked  back  with 
ghame  and  regret  ou  the  manner 
Jji.wh^ch  she  had  acted ;  she  thought 


her  husband  fondly  loved  her,  and 
shedetermined  that  he  should  never 
again  have  cause  to  complain  :  but 
her  repentance  came  too  late,  his 
heart  was  alienated,  the  fatal  truth 
soon  reached  her,  and  she  had  the 
misery  to  know  aiid  feel,  that  she 
was  the  primary  cause  of  her  hus- 
hand's  gmlt. 

'-  It  was  not,  hovA^ever,  in  tiie  first 
moments  of  the  discovery  that  she 
awoke  to  this  conviction,  but  when 
she  did,  she  considered  it  a  sacred 
duty  to  try  to  put  an  end  to  the 
connection  he  had  formed.  His 
penitent  mistress  gladly  embraced 
a  proposal  made  to  her  as  from  a 
distant  relation  of  his,  to  return  to 
a  life  of  virtue;  hut  in  order  to 
secure  her  from  ever}'  temptation 
to  vice,  it  was  necessary  to  bestow 
upon  lier  the  decent  comforts  of 
life  :  brought  up  in  ease  and  luxu*' 
r}',  a  bare  sufficiency  would  have 
added  to  the  unhappiness  of  her 
sftuation.  It  is  now  some  time 
since  she  has  discontinued  all  4n'4 
tercourse  with  her  lover,  and  be- 
haved with  exemplary  regularity 
and  propriety." aunw  ,t»7t'l 

Frankland  interrupted  her  \5f 
falling  at  her  feet,  and  with  a  ve- 
hemence which  frightened  her,  he 
execrated  his  baseness,  and  be- 
sought her  pardon.  "••? 

"  Our  error  has  been  mutual, 
Frankland,"  cried  she,  "  let  our 
forgiveness  be  so  likewise.  I  have 
long  since  pardoned  you,  but  it  is 
only  by  rendering  you  happy  in 
future  that  I  can  be  induced  to 
I  pardon  myself," 

We  shall  not  repeat  the  penitent 
Imsband's  reply  ;  suffice  it  to  say, 
from  that  moment  love  and  confi- 
dence took  place  of  coldness  and 
distrust.      He  saw  with  astonish- 


LEGITIMATE   I'llIDE. 


359 


ment  that  his  g'ultly  frivolous  wife 
was  Mietamorpliosed  into  a  sensible, 
elegant  companion,  well  infornieti 
without  pedantry  or  affectation, 
and  animated  wiihout  levity.  Her 
toilette  no  longerengrossed  much 
of  ;!er  tinie,  yet  she  was  always 
well  and  fashionably  dressed  ;  for 
t-he  considered,  and  rigluly  too, 
that  even  the  hnest  mental  qualities 
will  not  prevent  a  slattern  from 
bLini;  disiiustin^-  in  the  eves  of  a 
man  of  sense.  She  took  pains  to 
j>lease,  and  she  fully  succeeded  ; 
in  proportion  to  the  severity  of  her 


trial  was  the  happiness  it  procured 
her,  for  she  never  again  jiad  reason 
to  question  either  her  husband's 
affection  or  fidelity. 

Frankland's  felicity  was  neither 
so  exquisite  nor  so  free  from  alloy ; 
the  misery  which  he  had  caused 
the  unfortunate  Charlotte  gave  him 
many  a  pang,  and  he  often  and 
deeply  regretted  that  he  had  not, 
by  a  n()l)le  struggle  with  his  guilty 
passion,  saved  himself  the  com- 
mission of  a  crinie  which  imbitter- 
ed  a  lot  otherwise  most  happy.      " 

•  IJ 
,rr 


LEGITIMATE  PillDE: 

A      TALE     FOR      YOUNG     MEN. 


,    "  Oh,  leave  me,  my  lord,  1  con-  li  ted.    The  words  were  spoken  by  an 
jure  you  !  leave  me,  and   cease  to  ji  interesting  female,  whose  face  was 


persecute  a  young  creature  who 
has  no  friend  near  her  but  the  Al- 
mighty, no  fortune  but  her  virtue; 
who  is  too  lowly  to  add  to  your 
happiness,  and  too  proud  to  accept 
what  you  would  insult  her  by  of- 
fering. What  is  it  you  seek,  but 
the  misery  of  her  you  pretend  to 
love,  while  you  at  the  same  time 


are    compassing    her    rum 


You 


would  place  me  in  a  higher  sphere, 
only  that  the  finger  of  Scorn  may 
find  a  more  conspicuous  object  to 
point  out  to  derision.  She  would 
triumph  over  the  weakness  of  a  poor 
girl,  who,  consenting  to  hecouje  a 
subject  of  envy  for  one  fleeting 
moment,  would  plunge  herself  for 
ever  into  merited  disgrace."  These 
were  the  words  I  heard  as  I  passed 
an  avenue  near  Selby  Park,  and 
they  were  uttered  with  such  a  plain- 
tive yet  forcible  appeal  to  my  feel- 
ings, that  i  could  not  forbear  sa- 
tisfying the  curiosity  which  so  ex- 
^aordiiTary  a  rir4;umstance  exci- 


adorned  with  all  the  vivid  hues  of 
health,  not  unassisted  by  innate 
pride,  whose  form  was  lightness  it- 
self, and  whose  tout -ensemble  it 
might  be  imagined  could  have  ex- 
cited in  the  breast  of  men  no  other 
sensation  than  of  a  pure  and  disin- 
terested love.  A  man  of  an  elegant 
appearance  and  fashionable  exte- 
rior held  the  aftViglited  fair  by  the 
hand  ;  he  was  pleading  his  passion, 
his  love,  and  respect,  which  his 
manner  contradicted  by  the  force 
in  which  he  was  detaining  the  ob- 
ject of  these  speeches.  The  female, 
endeavouring:  to  disenfjage  her 
hand  from  his  grasp,  again  spoke: 
"  Unhand  me,  my  lord,  nor  further 
insult  an  object  too  weak  to  resent, 
and  sutVer  me  to  retire  from  your 
presence  before  you  oblige  me  to 
mention  your  conduct  in  such 
terms,  as  to  make  you  forget  it  is  a 
weak  woman  only  that  is  now  in 
your  power.  Are  you  not  aware, 
j  my  lord,  that  even  now,  while  you 


540 


LEGITIMATE   PUIDE. 


are  amusing  \ourself  at  my  exr, 
■\tense,  perhaps  the  tinger  ot  Scorn 
is  pointing  at  me,  and  while  this 
interview  may  rc-dound  to  your 
honour,  it  may  lead  to  my  disgrace  r" 
Saying  this,  she  made  a  more  vio- 
lent effort  to  get  iree,  \vl)icli  her 
gay  insulter  thouglit  proper  to  per- 
mit. The  glow  of  health  imprint- 
ed on  lier  clieeks,  and  the  flush  of 
dignified  virtue,  which  would  on!)' 
have  confirmed  the  unprincipled 
in  their  purpose,  pleaded  for  her, 
and  her  admirer  left  her  to  pursue 
her  way;  while  Lord  Abberly,  re- 
visited by  some  proper  feeling  of 
true  nobilitj-,  which  had  been  che- 
rished and  instilled  into  him  by  a 
deceased  tutor,  gazed  with  delight 
on  the  fair  object  of  his  passion  as 
she  tripped  from  him  ;  he  watched 
her  until  a  clump  of  underwood 
concealed  her  front  his  sight.  His 
arms  then  dropped  listless  by  his 
side,  and,  half  contemplative  and 
half  repentant,  he  walked  melan- 
choly homeward. 

For  tliree  days  did  the  enamour- 
ed youth  (for  enamoured  he  cer- 
tainly was)  resist  all  attempts  to 
rouse  him  from  a  languor  incom- 
jirehensible  to  liis  friends,  but  he 
regarded  all  their  attentions  as  im- 
pertinent; they  were  at  least  un- 
heeded. He  wandered  as  one  seek- 
ing for  what  he  could  not  find  ;  but 
while  he  was  thus  passing  his  time 
in  apparent  listlessness,  liis  mind 
was  not  idle.  Lord  Abberly,  at  the 
age  of  two  and  twenty,  had  the  cou- 
rage  to  probe  his  wound  to  find  out 
the  cause  of  his  disease,  to  think  of 
a  remedy,  to  attempt  a  cure,  and, 
though  the  result  of  his  wishes  ap- 
peared very  difficult  to  accomplish, 
he  suffered  not  himself  to  think 
that  it   was  impracticable.      The 


ruore  he  dwelt  on  his  malady,  the 
more  h€i  Avas  convinced  of  the  ne-; 
ces^sity  <^f  violent  exertion.  With-, 
out  allowing  the  whirl  of  passion  to 
get  the  better  once  more  of  his 
judgment,  without  having  recourse 
to  Hammond  or  Oviil,  Burgundy  or 
Champagne,  he  began  to  consider 
hiscomplaint  by  asking  himself  one  ■ 
or  two  simple  questions  :  they  were 
these :--Wljat  iieactuall}'  meant  by 
persecuting  Fanny  Meadows?  and 
what  end,  supposing  he  could  ac- 
complish his  purpose,  the  gratifi- 
cation would  answer?  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  curate,  with  no 
fortune  but  her  education,  which 
was  superior  to  her  station.  She 
had  so  high  a  sense  of  religion, 
that  he  was  left  in  no  doubt  how 
she  would  receive  any  impure  pro- 
posals to  be  his  mistress;  liad  he 
been  base  enough  to  hint  at  such  a 
thing,  and  presuming  that  for  once 
miracles  might  cease,  and  she  con- 
sent to  a  brilliant  settlement,  fallen 
and  degraded  as  she  would  then  be 
in  his  eyes,  would  he  not  in  a  little 
time  loth  and  detest  her?  It  may 
then  be  said,  why  did  he  not  marry 
her?  Simj)ly  because  he  had  no  wish 
to  add  to  the  fortunate  country 
girls,  Pamelas,  or  actresses  of  the 
present  day ;  or  rather,  because 
the  artless  and  young  novice  in  the 
world,  possessing  every  virtue 
which  could  adorn  the  situation 
for  which  she  was  intended,  as  Lady 
Abberly  would  have  become  the 
scorn  of  those  in  whose  circles  she 
must  then  move,  and  the  modest 
violet  would  have  been  crushed,  io. 
the  rivalry  of  exotic  flowers.  ; .  -  '; 
He  resolved  then  to  drive  her 
from  his  thoughts.  He  no  longer 
scribbled  imitationa  of  CatuJlps  or^ 
Tibullus^  of  Byron  or  Moore^jof 


LRGITIMATE    PRIDE. 


341 


j)aiiifal  si^lis  or  blue  deweJ  eyes;; 
but  in  ibrowiii*^  away  his  peiisy  in  1 
forgetting     Lesbias,    Delias,    .Fu- 1 
liettas,  or  Bessys,  Fanny  Meadows  ; 
swam  before  liis  sight,  and  lie  sa-  j 
crificed  the  followinji   madrigal  to 
her  memory,  and   pored  over  her 
name  as  he  saw  the  smoke  of  his 
poetry  ascend,  not  from  the  altar 
of  love,  l)ut  from  an  excellent  sea- 
coal  tire  in  his  study. 

MADRIGAL. 

I  w(nc  a  cliaplet  ^ay, 

Of  iiioriiiiijt's  early  pride, 
^Vlll•|■^•  Mwct-lt*:!  scpiits  (liri  play, 

To  jjU'Hse  iny  lovt  1  tried. 

•  .llDUJSnspeiided  near  ihe  door 
911**'       '^'y  little  '^il'l  was  setn, 
..     ..To  tell  the  pain  I  bore, 
'  ."^  And  spc';ik  liow  near  I'd  been. 

.,woii 

,^he  bee  soon  siick'd  «'ai'li  swett. 
The  May  {ly  made  ils  bed; 
I  went  my  nyinpli  l»  ;;;ieel, 
^  £  tlOl:  But  found  luy  garland  dead. 

t  was  H  silly  K'oo, 

To  lliink  that  f1o« 'rets  tjay 
J         Could  uiii  no  fair  a  boon 
By  all  this  idle  play. 

Cunietlien,  my  silly  wreatb, 
I'll  place  tliec  on  my  breast, 
■    •        And  C'olin's  voice  shall  breathe 
1  A  requiem  lo  thy  rest. 

.  t!' 

And  Fhillida  to  me 

Shall  beud  her  lily  head, 
And  drop  a  tear  on  thee 

When  laid  with  Colin  dead. 

Lord  Abl)erly  thus  neglected  the  i 
chance  of  beinjj   registered    as   a 
noble  and  royal  author,  but  at  the 
same  time  he   did   a   much   wiser  j' 
thing;  he  shunned  everj'  occasion  ,, 
that  could  throw  him  in  the  wayof  !j 
Fanny  Meadows  ;  but  yet  he  could  ' 
notalways  avoid  seeing  her  in  hisor- 
dinar^'  pursuits  or  recreations.  He  I 
avoided,  however,  every  opportu-  j 
nity  of  a  lite-a-ttte  with  the  object ' 
of  his  regard;  but  how  could  he  ! 
forget    entirely    that    form     over 


which  the  Loves  and  Graces  had 
shed  their  happiest  influence? 

Lord  Abbcrly  was  a  iTian,  but  he 
was   also   a  ciiNXLiiMAN,    at)d    he 
deemed    it    highly    dishonourable 
to    suffer    his    passions    to    make 
him    forget   his    situation  in    life. 
If  his  head  and  heart  did  not  recti- 
fy to  the  utmost  what  his  tongue 
had  wrongly  uttered,  if  he  was  not 
a  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  neither 
was  he  a  Tom  Jones.   He,  therefore, 
made  an  apology  to  tanny  Mea- 
dows, without  velvet  small-clothes 
and  a  big  wig  and  sword,  nor  ever 
ventured  toolfend  her  again  under 
I  the  sanction  of  being  a  gallant  gay 
Lothario.     The   apology   was   ac- 
cepted, as  it  was  given  with  such  a 
grace  that  Lord  Abberly  found  it 
necessary  to  say  Yes  to  a  remark 
made  by  some  one  near  him,  in  or- 
der to  prevent  his  becoming  seri- 
ous.— At  the  end  of  a  few  days,  as 
,  he  was  walking  one  evening  in  an 
unfrequented    path,    he    observed 
two  persons  of  both  sexes  strolling 
at   a   distance   near   the  vicarage. 
He    approaclied    nearer.      Fanny 
Meadows  had  just  left  the  arm  of  a 
man,  who  kissed  his  hand  to  her  as 
she  entered  a  little  woodbine  log- 
gia: she  presented  him  with  a  flow- 
er, he  placed  it  in  his  button-hole» 
and,  with  an  air  of  tenderness,  re- 
tired.    This  was  very  free  conduct 
from  a  young  lady  who  had  so  late- 
ly expressed  such  a  dislike  of  at- 
tentions from  the  other  sex,  and  he 
was  roused  from  his  meditation  on 
her  conduct  by  \\'arrcn,  his  game- 
keeper, wiio,  with   an  honest  grin 
and    a    knowing    air,    exclaimed, 
"  Lord  bless  us  !  young  folk  will  be 
young  folk."    Thus  it  uas  evident 
that  Warren,  as  well  as  Lord  Ab- 
bcrlv,  had  been  an  unnoticed  spec- 


342 


ADVENTUliES    OF   A    LEGACV-HUINTRESS. 


tator  of  the  parting  of  the  lovers,  t 
The  latter  returned  Warren's  bow  ! 
and  interjection,  and,  affecting  in- 
difference, said  something  relative  j 
to  what  had  just   passed.     "  Ah, 
bless   'em !"   said  the  encouraged 
Warren  ;  "  I  wishes  summut  would 
turn  out  that  they  might  be  mar- 
ried at  wonst,  and  then  there  would 
be  an  end  on't." — "  Married  !"  said 
his  lordshi}),  "  who  married,  War- 
ren ?"  while  his  heart  l)eat  violent- 
ly.—  "  Why   young   Mr.  Parson, 
your  honour,  and  Miss  fanny  there. 
They  have  a  long  time  given  it  a 
thought,  but  what  wi' one  thing  and 
what  wi'  another,  it  don't  seem  to 
be  presently ;    sometimes   he's  to 
be  'dained,  and  sometimes  he's  not. 
It  gives  poor  old  parson  Goldsmith 
amort  of  uneasiness,  I  fear;   and 
our  gentry  here,  saving  your  lord- 
ship's presence,  they  promised  'em 
summut,   and    the   Miss  Sharmers 
would  have  got  him  to  be  chaplain 
to  their  uncle,  until  they  found  he 
was  in  love  wi'  Miss  Fanny  ;  'em  do 
say,  they   wanted  the  young  man 
for  their  selves,   and  very  likely. 
However,  1  begin  to  believe  Miss 
Meadows  will  never  be  the  young 
parson's." — Warren    wished    his 
lordship  good  niglit  and  departed. 
When  Lord  Abberly  found  Fan- 
ny Meadows  was  about  to  become 
the  wife  of  another,  he  felt  all  thr.t 
a  person  can  be  supposed  to  feel 
in  a  similar  situation;  but  as   he 
recollected  the  match  could  not  he 
yet,  he  reasoned  himself  into  |)la- 


cidity,  and  retired,  as  usual,  to  his 
bed.     When   his  lordship  laid   his 
head  on   his   pillow,  he  generally 
imUiediately  fell  into  a  deep  sleep, 
but  this  night  the  hail-clock  struck 
three  times   upon  his  ears  before 
he  had  determinetl  on  one  of  the 
many  plans  which  siigtiesLed  them- 
selves witli  regard  to  Fanny  Mea- 
dows.    <'  W  hat !"  at  lengtii  he  ex- 
,  claimed,*'  do  I  possess  so  dastardly 
!  a  spirit  as  to  he  pleased,  because 
!  she  cannot  as  vet  bless  the  arms  of 
!  him  she  adores  ?   Can  I   repine  at 
i  her  becoming  the  property  of  an- 
i  other,  when  1  can  never  Ijecome  her 
husband  ?  How  would  the  long  line 
i  of  illustrious   ancestors,  who  now 
in  effigy  line  my  gallery,  frown  on 
!  their  unvvorthy  kinsman!   I  am  un- 
I  v-'orthyof  such  noble  progenitors; 
j  1  will  never  disgrace  tlie  blood  of 
i  the  Cnurcys  by  such  plebeian  feel- 
ings." 

On  the  following  morning  the 
Rev.  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  closet- 
ed in  tlie  library  with  Lord  Abber- 
ly; the  living  of  ^Vnderford  was 
promised,  and  the  ordinatiun  short- 
ly to  be  executed.  In  due  time 
Fanny  Mea<lo'.vs  felt  no  rtgret  in 
cijanging  her  name  to  Goldsmith  ; 
and  Lord  Abberly  cheered  his 
heart  in  the  reflection,  that  by  ma- 
king two  deserving  persons  happy, 
he  had  been  stuiiulated  l)y  the 
great  deeds  of  his  ancestors,  and 
that  the  pride  of  birth  was  the  dic-^ 
tator  of  proper  conduct. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  LEGACY-HUNTRESS. 


(Continued  from  p.  293.^ 


ul'sia  9'' 


You  will  readily  believe,  Mr,  '|  grain  must  have  been  irlcsome  to 
Editor,  that  a  state  of  dependance  |  excess  ;  nevertheless!  submitted  to' 
upon  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Cross- 1  it  for  ten  years;  at  the  expiration 

■  I  Av  All    -lA.  .:'V^'  ' 


ADVENTUIIES   OF   A   LEUACY-I1UNTRES9. 


343 


of  that  time  the  old  lady  died, 
and  bequeathed  me  five  hundred 
pounds;  the  rcinaiiidcr  of  her  pro- 
perty, which  was  about  four  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year,  being  devised 
to  the  son  of  one  of  her  female 
friends,  a  young  man  who  had  a 
poetical  turn,  and  who,  for  the  last 
few  years  of  her  life,  had  becti  in 
the  liahit  of  presenting  her  with  a 
copy  of  verses  on  her  birth-day. 

I'wo  years  before  Mrs.  Cross- 
grain's  decease  I  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  lose  n)y  parents,  who,  sup- 
posing me  amply  provided  for,  had, 
troni  the  time  she  took  me  under 
her  protection,  neglected  to  save 
any  tiling  from  their  small  income; 
anil  the  liitic  they  had  accumulated 
before  was  nearly  expended  for 
my  clothes,  for  the  old  lady  chose 
I  should  be  well  dressed,  aIthou<rh 
she  never  presented  me  during  the 
whole  time  with  a  shilling  for  pock- 
et-money. 

I  was  then  just  turned  of  twenty- 
six,  totally  destitute  of  abilities  to 
get  a  livelihood,  and,  from  my  ha- 
bits of  life,  incapableof  existing  on 
the  interest  of  the  scantv  pittance 
left  me  by  Mrs.  Crossgrain  ;  when, 
in  about  a  week  after  her  funeral, 
I  was  told  one  morning  that  an  old 
gentleman  desired  to  see  me,  and, 
on  his  being  shewn  up,  I  found  it 
was  Mr.  Oddbody,  a  cousin  of  mv 
father's,  who  had,  when  I  was  quite 
a  child,  shewn  some  fondness  for 
nie,  but  being  offended  at  my  pa- 
rents sending  me  to  Mrs.  Cross- 
grain's,  he  had  declined  all  inter- 
course with  our  family  for  some 
years. 

The  sight  of  him  renewed  so 
many  painful  recollections,  that  I 
burst  into  tears.  *•  Don't  cry, 
child,"  said  he,  saUuing  me  with 

rol.  IL  No.  Ml, 


much  rough  kindness  ;  "  I  am  sor- 
ry to  find  that  the  old  woman  has 
cheated  you  at  last ;  always  feared 
she'd  play  you  some  trick,  but  ne- 
ver supposed  she  could  be  such  a 
cursed  ninny  as  to  leave  her  money 
'  to  a  rhymer,  and  such  an  impu- 
dent rascal  too.  Why  I  remember 
that  in  one  of  his  birth-day  offer- 
ings, as  the  fellow  called  them,  he 
had  the  assurance  to  speak  of  the 
flames  kindled  by  her  eyes.  The 
unconscionable  old  devil,  to  cheat 
you  out  of  your  right  for  such  non- 
sense !  She  has  a  more  just  notioa 
of  Hames  by  this  time  1  presume, 
hey!" 

"  Heaven  forbid,  sir,"  cried  I, 
interrupting  him  ; "  she  had  a  right 
to  dispose  as  she  pleased  of  her 
own  property,  and,  disappointed  as 
I  own  1  am,  I  forgive  her  sincere- 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  that's  spo- 
ken like  a  good  girl,  so  we'll  say  no 
more  about  her.  I  came  to  take 
3-ou  to  my  house,  where  you  will 
be  under  the  protection  of  my  cou- 
sin Homely;  for  as  our  relationship 
is  slight,  and  you  are  still  young, 
the  world  might  talk  if  you  had  no 
female  companion ;  and,  hark  ye, 
if  you  think  it  worth  while  to  stay 
with  me  during  the  remnant  of  my 
days,  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if  all 
I  have  is  not  yours  at  my  decease." 

You  may  believe,  sir,  that  I  rea- 
dily accepted  this  kind  ollVr,  and 
immediately  accompanied  my  wor- 
thy cousin,  whose  mansion,  not^ 
withstanding  his  kindness,  was  not 
a  much  more  happy  home  than  that 
of  my  deceased  aunt;  he  was,  in 
fact,  a  complete  country  squire, 
and  I  soon  saw,  that  i»i  order  to 
keep  the  favour  which  my  destitute 
situation  had  gained,  I  roust  remo- 
Z  z 


344 


ADVENTURES   OF  A    LEGACY-HUNTR£??. 


del  ;11  my  habits.    Adieu  to  read-  , 
ing,  drawing,  and  all  otlier  sedeti-  | 
tary  occupations.     I  was  now  draj^-  i 
ged  out  of  doors  in  all  weathers, ; 
either  on   foot  or  horseback  j  and; 
on  n)}'  return  from  a  toilsome  walk  | 
'or  ride,  1  had  to  give  at  least  two  ! 
hours'  attention  to   Mrs.  Homely,  ; 
who  undertook  to  instruct  me  in  [ 
the  mysteries  of  pickling,  preser-  '' 
vinw-,  &c.  at  the  desire  of  Mr.  Odd-  i 
body,  who  considered  such  know-  I 
ledire  as  the  acme  of  female  sci- 
Ence.     Unfortunately  my  progress  i 
under  this  good  lady's  tuition  was  ; 
very  slow,  and  she  imbibed,  in  con- 
sequence, such  a  contemptible  opi- 
nion of  my  understanding,  that  she 
treated  me  with  a  degree  of  super- 
ciliousness, which,  as  she  was  her- 
self a  dependant,  I  found  suffici- 
lently  mortifying. 

At  length  the  dinner  hour  ar- 
i*ived,  and  I  took  my  place  at  the 
head  of  the  table  ;  a  post  of  honour 
which  Heaven  knows  I  often  wish- 
ed to  resign,  for  of  all  the  irksome 
situations  in  which  a  delicate  and 
well-bred  woman  can  be  placed,  it 
was,  I  think,  the  worst.  No,  hold, 
I  am  wrong!  I  had  a  still  greater 
martyrdom  to  endure  v\hen  the 
gentlemen  came  up  to  tea,  and 
my  cousin  requested  me  to  play 
for  them;  a  civility  on  my  part 
which  never  failed  to  be  received 
with  noisy  compliments  and  extra- 
vagant praises  of  my  skill,  which 
were  any  tiling  but  Mattering,  be- 
cause I  knew  tiiose  who  bestowed 
them  had  neither  science  nor  taste. 
In  about  an  hour  I  had  generally 
the  satisfaction  to  see  my  audience 
fast  asleep,  and  then  I  escaped  to 
my  chamber. 

Such,  Mr.  Editor,  Sundays  ex- 
cepted, was  the  manner  in  which  1 


spent  four  years.  Unfortunatery^ 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  my  cousin 
took  it  into  his  head,  as  1  had  be- 
come a  tolerable  horse-woman,  to 
insist  on  my  accompanying  him  in 
the  chase.  I  dared  not  refuse;  but 
I  am  naturally  too  timid  to  justify 
his  boast  of  making  me  the  best 
huntress  in  the  country;  and  my 
life  began  to  be  still  more  imbit- 
tered  by  the  effects  that  his  disap- 
pointment produced  upon  his  tem- 
per, when  an  unfortunate  fall  from 
his  horse  in  attempting  to  leap  a 
ditch,  which  he  assured  me  was  the 
easiest  thing  iu  the  world,  termina- 
ted his  existence,  and  rendered  n>e 
once  more  destitute.  He  had.ab- 
vvays  a  horror  of  making  a  will, 
which  he  declared  he  would  never 
do  till  he  found  himself  dyingj 
and  as  he  died  intestate,  his  pro- 
perty went  to  his  heir  at  law. 

As  Mr.Oddbody  had  always  treat- 
ed me  in  his  way  with  the  greatest 
kindness,  I  was  sincerely  grieved 
for  his  death  ;  but  I  was  soon  rou- 
sed from  the  indulgence  of  my  sor- 
row by  a  civil  intimation  from  his 
heir,  that  I  was  welcome  to  stay,  as 
long  as  it  suited  me,  provided  1 
gave  up  my  present  apartment,  as. 
he  had  an  immediate  occasion  for. 
it.  You  will  readily  believe,  sir, 
that  I  did  not  much  longer  intrude 
upon  his  hospitality;  I  removed  to 
a  lodging  at  a  farm-house  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  very  night. 

In  a  few  days  after  I  had  done 
so,  and  while  my  future  plans  wer^ 
yet  undetermined,  I  received  a  let- 
ter from  the  widow  Querulous,  in 
which,  after  condoling  with  me  on 
my  loss,  she  invited  me  to  take  up 
my  abode  with  her.  This  lady, 
whowasarelationofmy  mother, hac^ 
been  for  many  years  an  invalidj 


ADVENTURES   OF   A   LEOACY-HUNTRnSS. 


3A5 


and,  a  sliort  time  before  the  receipt 
of  her  letter,  I  was  told  that  it  was 
the  opinion  of"  the  faculty  she  could 
not  survive  a  year.  1  did  not  lose 
a  moment  in  accepting  her  invita> 
tion  :  she  received  ine  wjth  much 
apparent  kindness,  and  I  began  to 
hope  that  I  should  find  the  bread 
of  dependance  less  bitter  than 
formerly,  but  I  was  soon  convinced 
of  my  mistake. 

Though  Mrs.  Querulous  pos- 
sessed an  excellent  heart  and  a 
very  superior  understanding,  she  | 
was,  nevertheless,  a  perpetual  tor- 
ment to  herself  and  every  body  i 
about  her:  her  temper,  which  had 
been  spoiled  by  improper  indul-  I 
gence  in  herinfancy,  was  rendered 
worse  by  an  early  disappointment, 
and  completely  soured  at  last  by 
ill  health.  To  sucli  a  degree  did 
she  carry  her  perverseness,  that  I 
believe  the  only  pleasure  of  which 
she  M'<is  susceptible  was  that  of 
finding  fault.  At  one  time  she  was 
certain  I  had  a  design  upon  her 
life,  because  one  very  tine  evening 
1  persuaded  her  to  venture  into 
the  garden,  and  it  suddenly  began 
to  rain,  which  she  was  positively 
certain  I  must  have  foreseen ;  an- 
other time  she  was  sure  I  had  thrown 
her  into  a  fever  by  making  some 
negus,  which  she  thought  I  could 
mix  better  than  any  body  else,  too 
strong.  On  one  occasion  she  saw 
1  had  a  mind  to  lower  her  spirits 
by  putting  on  a  dark  silk  dress; 
and  the  next  day  she  thought  that 
the  gaiety  of  my  countenance,  and 
the  colour  of  my  ril)bons,  which 
were  blue,  might  be  very  well  caU 
■.jwlated  for  a  ball-room,   but  she 

;biUvai  t\s  euea^  xnBcn  loi  ^la^^,- 


was  sure  no  ])crson  of  the  least 
feeling  could  think  them  propj2i- 
for  thechamberof  an  invalid:  how- 
ever, it  was  her  misfortune  to  be 
surrounded  by  people  destitute  of 
even  common  humanity,  but  she 
would  take  care  that  none  of  them 
should  have  so  much  cause  to  ex- 
ult at  her  death  as  they  expected. 

From  this  slight  specimen,  Mr. 
Editor,  )'0u  may  form  some  idea  of 
the  martyrdom  I  endured  for  near- 
ly two  years,  at  the  end  of  which 
time  Mrs.  Querulous  died,  and  left 
me  her  whole  property  :  but,  alas! 
the  time  in  which  it  would  have 
rendered  me  happy  is  gone ;  though 
little  more  than  thirty -two,  my 
health  is  undermined,  partly  from 
vexation, and  partly frou»  the  fatigue 
I  underwent  in  my  attendance  up- 
on Mrs.  Querulous,  and  my  spirits, 
which  were  naturally  high,  are 
completely  broken.  Often,  and 
bitterly,  do  I  regret  the  mistaken 
policy  to  which  the  last  years  of 
my  life  have  been  sacrificed,  and 
envy  the  humbler,  but  happier,  lot 
of  those  who  draw  a  subsistence 
from  their  own  industry. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  which  I  once 
fancied  riches  had  the  power  to 
bestow,  that  of  contributi.ng  to  the 
wants  of  others  is  the  only  one  for 
which  I  yet  retain  a  relish ;  and, 
thank  Heaven,  my  fortune  places 
this  enjoyment  entirely  within  my 
power.  The  active  duties  of  liene- 
volence  may  yet,  at  least  I  will 
hope  so,  gild  with  soMue  occasional 
moments  of  sunshine  the  cheerless 
existence  of^  sir,  your  very  humble 
servant,  vfu  3'j<i 

Harriet  Heautless, 


t-.Ji:,  -.•>   i.       vi'.i.iiJiJ  J^ 


346'  «io  3^1/  qn 

NOTES  ON  THE  NATURE  AND  USE  OF  DAY-LIGHT; 
A  recent  Discovery  in  the  Philosophy  of  the  Fine  Arts, 


A  VERTICAL  SECTION  OF  DAY  OR  SKY- LIGHT. 

Let  the  arc  A  D  C  B  represent  the  blue  light  of  the  atmospheric  hemisphere  or 
iky,  the  line  A  B  a  horizonial  surface,  E  D  a  perpendicular  surface,  E  C  a  diagonal 
surface;  then,  as  a  horizontal  surface  is  liglited  by  the  whole  arc,  a  peupen- 
DicuLAK  and  a  diagonal  by  less  than  the  whole,  therefore  the  ui'PEk  surfaces  of 
bodies,  usually  assuming  or  inclining  lo  the  horizontal  direction,  will  receive  more 
of  this  blue  light  than  their  sides,  which  necessarily  partake  of  the  perpendicular 
or  diagonal;  and  a*  we  commonly  say  the  Sun  rises  and  the  Sun  sets,  and 
nobody  quibbles  about  it,  so  the  watchman  of  ihe  day,  as  he  tells  the  hours,  may  be 
permitted  to  add  the  highly  necessary  information,  that 

Day-lig^t  shines  down  i^ertendicularly. 

(1.)  "  It  seems  they  had  none  of\ 
them  ever  comidej'ed." 

We  are  told  that  Eumarus,  the 


Athenian,  immortalized  himself  bj- 
Jirsl  distinp:uishing  we;/ from  zcomen 
in  his  pictures;  and  Cimon,  the 
Cleonian,  his  imitator,  enjoys  this 
celebrity  at  aecond  hand.  However, 
Cimon  appears  to  have  been 
equally  original  with  his  master. 
He  it  was  who  first  dared  to  depart 
from  the  established  principles  of 
the  OLD  MASTKlis  of  his  day,  and 
to  represent  his  men  and  women  as 
they  appeared  to  him  in  real  life, 
sometimes  in  front,  sometimes  side- 
Ways;  now  looking  up,  now  down. 
It  is  recorded  also  of  the  adven- 


turous  Polygnotus,  that  he  was  the 
first  painter  who  observed  that  men 
and  women  occasionally  open  their 
mouths  and  shew  their  teeth. 

But — is  it  possible  that  it  can  be 
a  new  discover?/  in  the  arts  at  this 
time  of  day,  that  the  sky  is  situa- 
ted OVER  OUR  HEADS,  and  that  the 
light  of  it  shines  down'i  v^nsni 

(2.)  "  Here  it  shines  distinctly  on 
the  reflection  of  your  Cow  in  the 
watery 

Tlie  reflection,  or  shadow,  of  the 
Cow  in  the  water,  is  very  properly 
drawn  with  the  heels  upward,  and, 
zeere  it  hut  a  substance  instead  of  a 
shadow,  it  might  receive,  upon  its 
belly,  the  light  of   the  blue  sky 


h'OTKS   ON    TUF.    USE    OF   D^^Y-LIGllT    IN    THL    FINI-:    ARTS. 


347 


ahoic  it;  tliat  is,  pwtiiled  the  Cuw 
he) self'  were  composed  qf'ziater  or  of 
gidss,  so  that  the  lijxlit  of  the  sky 
couhl  shine  l/iroui^h  her,  hut  not 
otherwise.  I  have  lately  seen  a 
picture  in  which  a  lady  isst()o{)ing 
down  to  a  well,  and  another  lady, 
as  solid  as  herselF,  rises  up  from  the 
bottom  of  it  to  meet  her.  Mistakes 
of  this  kind  shew  the  necessity  of 
attending  to  the  n;)tural  operation 
of  Light,  and  reflecting  upon  the 
causes  of  those  |)htnoniena  which 
the  painter  cannot  always  have  by 
the  side  of  his  easel. 

(3.)  "  IV lien  maiikiiul  was  all  in- 
closed in  Noah's  Ark." 

The  events  of  this  period  afl'ord 
a  new  field,  never,  I  believe,  en- 
tered upon  in  that  already  exten- 
sive department  of  painting,  v/hich 
may  properly  be  denominated  sta- 
ble   HISTORY. 

(4.)  "  The  diversity  of  styles,  or,  as 
they  are  termed,  the  different  zcays  of 

l^eeing  Nature.'' 

With  respect  to  the  diversity  of 
STYLES  on  which  so  much  j)rofound 
abstraction  and  learned  research 
have  been  exhausted,  I  cannot  but 
think  that  it  is  at  least  extremely 
premature  to  attempt  to  fix  their 
limits;  and  that  whatever  may  have 
been  said  of  the  principles  of  the 
dilVerent  great  artists  of  antiquity 
by  the  critics  of  their  own  times, 
or  tradition  may  have  furnished  as 
materials  for  conjecture  to  those 
of  our  own,  it  is  very  doubtful 
whether,  through  these  means,  we 
shall  be  able  to  ascertain  the  real 
principles  upon  which  those  artists 
worked  ;  allowing  even  that  those 
principles  cotuprehended   the  en- 

,  tire  and  perfect  thettry  of  the  Art. 

2JI   Ha)d  these  sources  of  conjecture 
bceivtiapablt  of  alfording  the  light 


which  was  expected  from  them,  and 
which  seemed  indeed  to  dazcji  upon 
us  as  the  hand  of  Genius  boldly  ad- 
ventured to  thrust  back  the  clouds 
that  environed  them; — the  Elgin 
MAKP.LF.s  would  not  have  spread 
through  the  circles  of  Art  that  as- 
tonishment, that  verj/  agreeable  sur- 
prise, which  they  so  universally  oc- 
casioned. 

To  go,  however,  no  further  back 
th.an  to  Michael  Angelo — we  are 
told  that  ho  painted  Man — the  cen- 
tral form  of  the  species. 

That  this  conception,  this  yldnniy 
existed  in  his  mind  in  great  per- 
fection, I  have  no  doubt;  but  is  it 
not  evident  that  with  one  man  and 
one  Koman  this  boasted  generic  race 
must  terminate  in  every  mind  that 
gives  birth  to  it  ? 

The  instant  they  multiply,  an- 
other style  arises ;  in  process  of 
time  at  least  this  must  be  the  case, 
or  the  generations  of  men  would 
exhibit  one  dull  and  tame  mono- 
tony; and  Nature,  rich  as  she 
appears  and  infinite  in  the  variety 
of  her  materials  for  great  and  in- 
teresting conceptions,  would  soon 
become  wearisome  and  insipid. 

It  does  not  appear  to  me  that 
Michael  Angelo  neglected  the  va- 
riety of  Nature,  that  mighty  charm 
which  binds  us  to  the  very  love  of 
existence  itself. 

Doubtless  this  variety  mai/ — so 
far  as  it  is  really  known — be  classed 
and  arranged;  but  to  do  this  (or 
all  Nature  by  anticipation — to  pre- 
tend to  an  entire  and  perfect  con- 
ception of  that  of  which  no  man 
sees  but  a  very  insignificant  part, 
is  it  not  likely  to  plunge  the  mis- 
taken artist  who  indulges  in  it,  into 
a  vapid  and  empty  mannerism  ^ 

The  collector  of  natural  producr 


348       NOTKS    ON    THE    USE    OF   DAY-LIGHT    IN    THE    FINE   ARTi?. 


tions  does  not  usually  begin  by  fit- 
ting up  a  vast  extent  of  shelves  and 
cabinets  of  various  sizes,  number- 
ing and  lettering  them  systemati- 
cally ; — imagine  only  such  a  natu- 
ralist as  tl'.is,  at  the  ridiculous 
moment  when  he  brings  his  poor 
half-dozen  of  cockle- ahetls  to  place 
them  in  a  corner  of  his  museum. 

1  do  temenibcian  a'JoMiccary, 

AiiJ  i;i  Ilia  needy  shop  a  tortoise  hung, 

Ai)  iillij^atoi-  stui't,  luid  olhtr  skins 

Of  il!-c1iai>c(l  tithes,  and  about  his  shelves 

A    BUpGARLY  ACCOUNT    OF  EMPTY  IIOXES. 

Perhaps  it  wonlu  be  more  useful 
to  inquire  upon  what  principle  we 
must  proceed,  in  order  to  obtain 
those  valuable  curiosities  which  we 
are  so  ready  to  class  and  sytema- 
tize  a  jtriori. 

(5.)  "  .4  most  valuable  school 
for  the  sludi/  of  colouring^  in 
^hich  the  public,  as  well  as  the  art- 
ists, miqht  educate  themselves  in  the 
knowledge  of  NJTUREr 

I  am  not  without  some  hope  that 
the  hint  to  which  this  note  refers, 
will  receive  a  better  illustra- 
tion than  any  1  can  add  to  it. 

(6.)  "  Poetical  lantern:' 

This  lantern  is  nothing  more 
the  usual  dark-room  of  a  painter, 
into  which  one  distant  and  elevated 
wiudozi)  pours  a  single  stream  of 
light  upon  the  head  of  the  devoted 
sitter,  producing  an  eii'ect  not  un- 
like the  definite  chiaroscuro  of  sun- 
shine. 

This  artificial  suN,  however, 
ought  to  be  accompanied  by  an 
artificial  day:  abroad  sky-light, 
veiled  by  a  fine  transparent  cur- 
tain of  a  blue  colour,  and  situated 
immediately  over  the  altar  on  which 
the  victim  is  placed,  would  pro- 
duce the  desired  effect^jjijurb v.. 


Should  it  ever  happen  in  the  fu- 
ture progress  of  the  Fine  Arts,  that 
the  arbiters  of  taste,  or  the  public 
at  large,  interest  themselves  so  far 
in  a  matter  of  this  trifling  nature, 
as  to  patronise  the  introduction  of 
day  or  sktj-light  into  pictures,  and 
were  this  cheerfnl  phenomenon  of 
nature  actually  to  come  into  fa- 
shion ;  were  the  lovely only 

to  take  it  into  her  head,  that  the 
exquisite  delicacy  and  the  vivid 
lusire  of  lier  complexion  would 
be  rather  quenched  than  heighten- 
ed in  the  gloom  of  a  cemetery; 
should  it  once  strike  her  young  and 
lively  imagination,  that  Nature  has 
itself,  as  it  were,  rolled  round  the 
light  blue  turban  of  the  heavens,  and 
placed  the  sun  as  a  diamond  in  its 
front;  and  should  she  but  fancy  that 
this  splendid,  yet  simple,  head- 
dress would  become  her,  ah!  who 
might  so  safely  venture  to  appear 
in  it  as  she?  The  painters  and  all 
the  world  would  no  doubt  run  at 
once  into  the  fashion,  and  then  the 
artifcial  contrivance  here  recom- 
mended might  be  found  useful, 
and  the  present  dark  lantern,  not- 
withstanding its  poetical  title,  be 
for  ever  discarded. 

It  would  really  be  a  curious  spe- 
culation to  calculate  how  lonj;  a 
period  may  probably  elapse  before 
tiiis  improvement  is  carried  into 
effect,  and  which  of  our  fashion^ 
able  and  deservedly  adnnred  por- 
trait-painters will  be  immortalized 
by  some  future  Pliny  for  its  intro- 
duction. 

(7.)  "  The  Columbus  of  the  day 
has  fixed  his  egg  vpon  the  table.''-'' 

"  L'autruche  depose  tranquille- 
ment  son  oeuf  sur  le  sable;  les  pin- 
90ns  et  les  passereaux  ne  sauraient 
i'ecraser;    le  bee  des  sansonoet^ 


NOTES   0>f    THE    USE    OF   DAY-l.IOlIT    IN   THE    FINE    ARTS. 


549 


et  (les  corncilles  iie  pent  I'ciitamer 
ni  le  repousser  dans  I'ombre';  c'fest 
a.  I'astre  qui  dispense  la  lurniere  a 
ie  faire  i-clorc. — Jacobi. 

(H.)  "  TjofE  and  Space:' 

"  Of  things  which  are  UMQUt: 
(such  as  aiATTEK,  minj),  space, 
time),"  says  iVIr.  Dugai.d  Stew- 
Alir,  "  no  classijicaiioii  is  piactica- 
ble.  Indeed,  to  speak  of  classify- 
ing what  has  nothing  ifi  common  with 
an//  thing  t'/se,  is  a  contradiction  in 
terms." 

He  indeed  acknowledges  liini' 
self  to  he  precisely  in  the  same 
state  with  St.  Augustine  and 
Locke. 

"  Don't  ask  u»,"  say  these  three 
genilenjen,  "  zchut  time  is,  and  we 
know  very  well;  l)ut,  '  .v/  rpds  in- 
ierroget,''  if  y(MJ  ask  ns,  we  know 
nothing  about  th.e  matter.  I  will 
not,  therefore,  put  this  stupifi/ing 
(jnestion  to  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart, 
but  supply  him  with  the  answer  to 
it,  furnished  by  the  Kantesian 
system. 

Time  and  Space  are  Ei-emf.nts  of  the 
Human  Mi  no. 

The  MODE    OF    BEING  of  ALU    THAT    CAN 
BE    PERCEIVED    BY    THE    SeNSES, 

in  other  words, 
Tlie  general  foum  of  the  sensitive 

FACULTY  is 

A  variety  of  parts  in  connection; 
Of  which  there  are  ixvo  kinds: 


Parts 


Parts 
co-existing,  successive, 

or  or 

SPACE.  TIME. 

These  are  both  branches  of  the  sensi- 
tive or  passive  FAcutxy, 

and 

They  have  this  in  common, 

They  are  both  modes  of  receiving  a 

VAIlIETV  of  SENSIBLE    FARTS. 

Does  Mr.  Dugald  Stewart  really 
consider  these  two  puzzling  things, 


or  rather  these  nothings  —  these 
empty  receptacles  forthings--these 
two  extensions — these  Infinutes, 
which  are  both  homogenial,  both 
continuous,  both  infinitely  divisi- 
ble, as  having  nothing  in  com- 
mon ? 

1  should  be  sorry  to  mistake  any 
statement  of  this  eloquent  writer, 
but  there  is,  I  think,  one  unequi- 
vocal assertion  in  his  works,  name- 
ly, that  space  exists  out  of  the  mind. 
Has  he  been  there  to  make  the  dis- 
covery ? 

The  MIND,  also,  Mr.  Dugald 
Stewart  terms  unique.  This  is 
the  great  "  Si  quis  interrogety 
(9.)  "  Vnintelligibler 
"  Que  I'iiomme  reste  done  dans 
I'etroite  loge  que  son  Createur  lui 
a  donnee." — C.  VlLLKKs'  Philoso- 
phic de  Kant. 

On  this  subject  I  would  recom- 
mend the  perusal  of  the  eloquent 
and  perspicuous  work  of   Mr.  C. 
Villers,  which  will,  I  have  no  doubt, 
'  at  some  future  period   undergo  a 
more  rational  species  of  criticism 
than  it  has  hitherto  been  favoured 
I  with.  The  curious  reader  may  aho 
I  refer  to  the  article  "  Metapliysics 
i  reduced  to  a  complete  and  perma- 
1  nent  science,"  in  the  Encyclopadia 

Londincn.us. 
I      (10.)  "  The  Philosophy  of  this 
j  truly  Christian  Gge.'' 
I      The  philosophy  here  alluded  to 
is  that  general  apathy  towards  spe- 
culative subjects,  the  indolent  re- 
mains of  an  exhausted  scepticism, 
which,  having  completed  its  work 
in   the  total  overthrow  of  all    the 
dogmatism   of    metaphysics,    now 
suHers  the   mind,   in   a  great  de- 
gree,  to   resume   the   simple  and 
quiet  exercise  of  its  inherent  but 
unexamined  powers  —  a  state  of 


350 


THE   FKMALE   TATTLElt. 


public  intellect  highly  favourable 
and  greatly  calculated  to  excite 
the  contemplations  of  the  tr ue  pW-' 
losopher. 

*»*  For  a  more  extended  illus- 


tration  of  this  subject,  we  refer  our 
readers  to  a  pamphlet,  which  is 
now  in  the  press,  and  will  be  pub- 
lislied'  in  the  course  of  a  few  day« 
by  Mr.  Ackermann. 


THE  FEMALE  TATTLER. 

No.  XII. 

Sic  visum  Veneri,  ciii  placet  impares 

Formas  atquc  aniinos  sub juja  ahenca 

Saevo  miltere  cum  jngo Hoa. 

In  brazen  yokes  thus  Vcmty  biiids  5,^,4 

Ill-coupled  forms  iiiidjui'iing  rainds. 
And,  gaily  cruel,  joys  to  see        :     ifiriD-UD 
>j-  The  restless  lovers  disugree.  . 

Pf  has  been  observed  by  a  very  |!  humble  imitator  of  those  essayists^ 
ingenious  writer,  that  few  under-  j{  whose  works  form  a  very  brilliant 
takings  require  attention  to  a  great-  I'  feature  in  British  literature;  whose 
er  variety  of  circumstances,  or  in-  !]  utility  has  not  been  surpassed  by 
elude  more  complicated  labour,  i!  any  other  mode  of  moral  writing; 
than  that  of  the  conductor  of  a  !' and  in  which,  taken  in  their  re- 
periodical  pa(?er,  who  necessarily  i  speclive  series,  knowledge,  taste, 
invites  persons  of  every  station,  !  manners,  virtue,  and  religion,  have 
capacit}',  disposition,  and  employ-  I  been  taught  and  extended  with  a 
ment,  to  attend  to  the  variety  of  his  ',  blended  effect  of  grave  delight  ami 
lucubrations.     He  who  baoys  him- ji  enlivening  reason.  ?^?'>  i's.   o: 

self  up  with  the  hope  of  pleasing  {  Nor  should  I  have  ventured 
what  may  becalled  the  world,  with- ;  to  enter  even  on  my  contracted 
out  gratifying  its  foibles,  perhaps  jj  course,  if  I  had  not  secured  the 
I    may  add  its   follies,   if   not   its  '  assistance  of  those  whose  qualifi^ 


vices,    must    possess    talents    and 
knowledge  of  no  common  quality 


cations  are   far   superior   to  such 
exertions  as   I   can   ask  of  thetH^r 


or  extent.     He  must  be  able  not "  and  had  I  not  been  so  fortunate  as' 


only  to  exhibit  objects  in  a  new 
light,  to  display  truths  that  are  not 
generally  known,  but  to  select  such 
subjects  as  the  public  are  willing 
to  regard,  sdidh  truths  as  excite  its 
curiosity,  and  such  knowledcce  as 
it  is  solicitous  to  acquire. 

Hence  it  has  been  found  neces- 
sary to  combine  the  efforts  of  many 
to  form  a  periodical  paper,  or  to 
give  distant  intervals  to  its  succes- 
sive publications.  It  is  this  latter 
circunistance  alone  which  gave  me 
sufficient  resolution  to  become  an 


to  be  favoured  with  the  voluntary 
communications  of  many  corre- 
spondents, whose  partial  attentions 
to  me  T  most  willingly  acknow- 
ledge, and  am  ever  happy  to  re- 
ceive. 

But  enough  of  self,  that  delight- 
ful object  to  one's  own  thoughts, 
and  which  oftentimes  prove^s  bo 
troublesome  to  others :  I  shall  there- 
fore proceed  to  a  subj«ct^  '#ith 
which  personall}-,  thank-  Hi?avgft, 
I  have  nothing  to  do;  while' rtily 
correspondent,  wht>se  lueabration 


THE    FEMALE   TATTLMtt. 


351 


t  am  about  to  communicate  to  my 
readers,  writes  so  sensibly  and  with 
suci)  an  evident  experience  of  the 
subject,  that  I  cannot  but  presume 
her  sentiments  and  opinions  are 
fruits  of  real  events  and  original 
circumstances  in  the  course  of  her 
observation,  if  they  have  not  form- 
ed a  part  of  her  own  history. 
TO    THE    FEMALE    TATTLER. 

Madam, 

Your  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  of  the  human  heart,  and  par- 
ticularly of  those  circumstances  in 
v/hich  your  own  sex  is  frequently 
and  unavoidably  involved,  will  save 
me  from  any  charge  of  indelicacy 
in  considering  the  other  under  any 
of  those  characters  in  which  it  may 
lessen  its  consequence  and  lionour  : 
but  so  much  of  tlie  happiness  and 
misery  of  human  iife  depends  upon 
the  union  of  male  and  fenia^^  ex- 
istence, that  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
sider the  one,  without  approaching 
to  an  examination  of  the  other. 
They,  in  their  social  character, 
form  all  the  features,  and  produce 
all  the  varieties,  of  what  I  shall 
cali  civil  or  domestic  life.  An  in- 
quiry into  them  is  as  pr^jier  a  sub- 
ject for  a  woman  as  a  man  ;  and  I 
know  not  why  it  should  not  be  con- 
sidered as  an  Ikjuourablc  labour  in 
a  female  pen,  to  trace  the  errors  of 
the  other  sex,  if,  by  detecting  them, 
she  can  preserve  the  inno<;ence  of 
her  own. 

It  is  a  maxim,  not  unconmionly 
supported  in  female  society,  that 
"  a  reformed  rake  makes  the  best 
husband."  Upon  what  reason,  or 
grounds  of  experience,  such  an 
opinion  is  founded,  I  cannot  pre- 
tend to  determine;  and  I  know  of 
no  writer  that  supports  it,  nor  can 
.  loL  11.  No.  XII. 


I  tell  where  to  find  examples  of 
it,  but  in  novels  and  in  plays,  where 
such  a  husl)aud  indeed  sometimes 
a])pears  to  be  the  reward,  such  as 
fancy  pleases  to  make  it,  of  female 
merit. 

Whenever  I  hear  a  miss  make 
such  a  declaration,  these  alterna- 
tives never  fail  to  arise  in  my  mind  : 
Either  that^he  has  uidiappily  fall- 
en violently  in  love  with  a  gentle- 
man of  this  character,  and  is  blind- 
ed by  her  passion,  which  converts 
the  object  of  it  into  an  angel ;  or, 
that  she  is  yet  an  angel  herself; 
that  is,  in  such  a  state  of  inno- 
cence and  inexperience  of  the 
world,  as  to  be  wholly  unacquaint- 
ed with  what  a  real,  genuine  rake 
is:  for  certainly  if  a  precise  idea 
of  the  vices  of  that  character  were 
strongly  imprinted  in  the  mind  of 
a  virtuous  woman  ;  if  she  were 
once  persuaded,  that  profligacy  of 
every  kind,  that  evil  propensities 
iii  all  their  indulgence,  that  grati- 
fications which  the  decorums  of 
life  do  not  adn»it  to  be  named,  that 
a  scoffing  insensibility  to  the  mise- 
ries of  his  own  wanton  creatjqn, 
decked  with  elegance  of  person 
and  grace  of  manners,  fofm  more 
I  or  less  the  character  of  ^  rake, 
j  it  is  impossible,  unless  reason  were 
■  seduced  from  her  mind,  that  she 
could  possibly  connect  the  idea  of 
Hymen  with  such  a  man.  \\  hat 
woman  who  was  acquainted  with 
such  a  pictnre,  unless  afllicted  by 
a  perversion  of  heart,  could  ever 
bring  herself  to  marry  the  original. 
We  will  suppose  then  that  the 
rake  is  given  up,  and  it  should  be 
asked  by  the  lady  who  is  disap- 
pointed of  hex  Lothario,  what  cha- 
racter is  to  supply  his  place.  Cai^ 
3  A 


352 


THE   FEMALE   TATTLER. 


a  better  be  offered  than  a  man  of 
superior  intellectual  abilities,  pos- 
sessed of  fine  sense,  with  tlie  dig- 
nity that  accompanies  it,  and  the 
capacity  to  bestow  tliat  refined, 
exalted,  and  permanent  happiness 
which  is  alone  worthy  of  a  rational 
being? 

Flirtilla,  however,  though  she 
could  not  deny  the  superior  pro- 
mise of  iiappiness  with  such  a  hus- 
band, seemed  to  ask  for  some  en- 
livening qualities  to  embroider  the 
gravity  of  a  liighly  organized  mind, 
a  little  dash  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  to  make  him  something  like 
the  general  society  of  it.  She  had 
no  ambition  to  be  of  blue-stocking 
eminence,  nor  to  marr}-  a  m^n  of 
intellectiial  excellence,  in  qrder  to 
make  the  world  believe  that  she 
herself  admires  and  possesses  it. 
Some  of  her  friends  had  tried  thp 
experiment,  and  though  they  cer- 
tainly escaped  the  disgrace  and  the 
unhappiness  of  marrying  a  decided 
rake,  they  had  contrived  to  work  a 
plan,  of  what  deserved  no  better 
title  than  that  of  respectable  dul- 
ness,  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

There  is  no  reasoninor  asfainst 
experience;  facts  are  obstinate 
things:  but  is  there  not  a  quality, 
to  which  no  objection  can  be  made, 
that  improves  the  graver  qualities, 
heightens  the  more  animated  dis- 
positions, gives  to  virtue  an  added 
charm,  and  even  to  our  feelings 
the  semblance  of  virtue?  and  that 
IS,  good-nature. 

In  this  quality,  under  its  genuine 
character,  there  is  neither  the  acri- 
mony of  spleen,  nor  the  suUenness 
of  malice;  it  is  neither  clamorous 
nor  fretful,  neither  easy  to  be  of- 
fended nor  impatient  to  revenge: 
it  is  a  tender  sensibility,  a  partici- 


pation of  the  pains  and  pleasures 
of  others,  and  is  therefore  a  forci- 
ble and  constant  motive  to  com- 
municate happiness  and  alleviate 
misery. 

"  Ail  this,"  says  Flirtilla,  "  is 
very  fine;  it  is  a  very  beautiful 
picture,  but  it  hangs  not  in  the 
gallery  of  any  friend  or  acquaint- 
ance of  mine.  If  I  wait  for  a  hus- 
band till  I  find  a  man  endowed  with 
such  a  state  of  it  as  you  have  de- 
scribed, I  shall  be  an  unmarried 
woman  to  the  end  of  time.  I  am 
in  search  of  that  happiness  which 
I  may  reasonably  hope  to  attain, 
and  in  which  the  parties  would  have 
a  sufficient  portion  of  it  to  be  equal 
to  the  allotment  of  for  better  and 
for  worse,  which  the  matrimonial 
vow  engages  us  to  bear.  Does  not 
Good-Nature  wear  the  robe  of  Fol- 
ly ?  and  does  not  Folly  frequently 
endeavour  to  elevate  itself  by  as- 
sLjiTiing  the  title  of  Good-Nature? 
How  in  a  state  of  human  imperfec- 
tion are  wp  to  guard  against  these 
degeneracies?  and  may  not  a  rake 
be  the  best-natured  creature  in  the 
world  ?  Is  it  not  this  principle 
which  induces  him  to  sacrifice  hisi 
health  ^o  promote  the  jovial  plea- 
sures of  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance? Is  it  not  his  good-nature, 
that,  tp  gratify  the  vanity  of  his 
wife  in  all  the  figure  and  fashion 
of  high  life,  brings  on  the  impo- 
verishment of  his,  estate?  It  may 
be  said,  indeed,  th,at  let  a  good- 
natured  man  have  what  follies  or 
weaknesses  he  may,  of  this  his  wife 
may  be  sure,  that  he  will  never  use 
her  ill." 

This  is  an  expression  of  a  very 
various  and  extensive  signification: 
whether  a  good-natured  man  cai^ 
use  a  woman  ill  or  not,  I  shall  ijot 


FleU^SS.  Vol.ir} 


Koorn 

I'lT  f/ii   I'ari.di  ' 


(  ',tU  (Il'/lS 


■''     All!/ 


•nil  bm-llinqltini.i 


Garden.i .- 


STATE   OF  tup:   SAVOY   IN    1736. 


353 


stop  to  inquire;  but  this  1  know, 
for  I  could  produce  examj)les,  that 
lie  can  make  a  woman  extreuiely 
wretched. 

"  VV'liat    then    is   to   be   done?" 
continued  Klirtilla:  "the  rake  you 
absohitely   forbid  me;  the  man  of 
superior  understandint^  will  notfind 
a  due  portion  of  intellect  in  me, 
to  put  us  upon  that  cqnaliiy,  with- 
out which  man  and  wife  must  be 
slave  and  tyrant,  or  cat  and  dog; 
and    mere   good-nature,  say  vvhat 
you  will  to  the  contrary,  is  a  mere 
driveller, — Wiiat  then,"    she  re- 
peated, "  is  to  be  done  r"    There  is 
an  answer  at  hand  : — Take  them  all 
three.     Chuse  the    man   who    has 
the   eleqjance,    the   ease,   and    the 
graces  of  the  rake,  with  the  pow- 
ers of  superior  intellect,  and  when 
good-nature  is  united  to  them,  you 
need  not  tremble  for  its  indiscre- 
tions; it  will  still  be  a  gentle,  but 
grow  into  a    manly   qualification. 
Such   a   lover  is  to  be  known  by 
criterions   which  cannot   be    mis- 
taken.    Remark  how  he  is  aflected 
by  incidents  in  which  you   are  not 
personally  concerned,   and  where 
he  cati  have  no  reason  to  assume  a 
disguise  merely  to  please  you.    Do 
his  dependants  approach  him  with 
cheerful  respect  r    Does  he  disdain 
to  be  merry  at  the  expense  of  ano- 


ther ?  Does  be  mention  the  absent 
with  candour,  and  behave  to  those 
who  are  present  with  a  manly  com- 
placency? By  diligent  attention 
to  these  and  similar  circumstances, 
a[)robablejudgment  may  be  formed 
of  his  character. 

After  all,  good-nature  is  not  of 
less  importance  to  ourselves  than 
to  others.     The  morose  and  petu- 
lant first  feel  the  anguish  that  they 
give.    Reproach  and  invectives  are 
but  the  overflowings  of  their  own 
infelicity,  and  are  constantly  again 
thrown    back   upon    their  source. 
Sweetness  of  temper  may  be,  in 
some  measure,  considered  as  a  na- 
tural, rather  than  an  acquired  ex- 
cellence ;    and,    therefore,    to    re- 
commend it  to  those  who  are  con- 
scious  they  have    it  not,    may    be 
perhaps  taken    as  an   insult  rasher 
than   advice.     But  let  that  which, 
in  happier  natures,  may  be  consi- 
dered as  a  kind  of  instinct,  in  these 
be  reason  ;  let  them  pursue  the  same 
conduct,  impelled  by  a  nobler  mo- 
I  tive.     Let  their  virtue  be  the  effect 
I  of  their  own  reflection,  and  if  they 
i  acquire  it  by  victory  over  natural 
infirmities,  the  struggle  will    ter- 
minate in  their  honour  and   their 
reward.     Such  are  the  sentiments 
of  your  obliged,  humble  servant, 
I  L.ETITIA , 


Plati:  33.— STATK  OF 

Thf.  present  appearance  of  the 
interesting  remains  of  this  hospital 
is  represented  in  plate  21.  and  some 
account  of  its  history  accompanies 
it  in  page  '216  of  this  volume.  Fur- 
ther illustrative  oF'it  is  the  annexed 
plate,  whic',1  is  copied  from  a  view 
taken  by  G.  Vertue  in  the  year  of 
the  above  date,  aind  represents  the 


THE  SAVOY  IN  1736. 

chief  edifice  in   its  original   form 

I  of  a  cross,  the  court  of  the  friary, 

'  and  the  church  for  the  parish  of 

'   St.   IVIary,    and    other    buildings. 

'  On  the  plan  is  represented  the  ge- 

Ij  neral  form  of  the  whole,  and  also 

those  parts  that  were  appropriated 

to  the  German  Lutheran  and  the 

';  French    churches  ;     for    by   ^^'il- 

3  A   *2 


554 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


liam  III.  a  portion  of  the  Savoy 
was  assigned  for  the  residence  of 
the  French  refugees  who  conform- 
ed to  the  established  Church  of 
England, 

ft  isp  not  to  be  considered,  that 
the  building  when  Vertue  engraved 
the  vieiw  then  existed  in^  such  per- 
fect state  as  appears  ta  be  repre- 
sented by  it;  he  probably  supplied 
sueh  deficiencies  as  by  decay  and 
want  of  sufficient  repairs,  the  whole 
building  had  suffered  since  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth  :  for  in  the  year 
1761,  only  twenty-five  years  after 
the  publication  of  Vertue's  plate*, 
and  prior  to  the  injury  sustained 
by  fire  in  1776,  an  author  observes, 
"  Nothing  here  is  now  to  be  seen, 
but  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  edifice 
built  with  free-stone  and  ftints, 
among  which  is  still  remaining  part 
of  a  great  building,  in  which  de- 
tachments of  the  king's  guards  lie, 
and  where  they  have  their  marshal- 
sea  prison  for  the  confinement  of 
deserters  and  other  offenders,  and 
to  lodge  their  recruits."  On  the 
right  of  the  plate,  and  nearly  over 
the    church    of    St.  Mary,    might 

*  George  Vertue,  an  eminem  English 
engraver,  died  1756,  aged  72^'^   ^'^  "' 


formerly  have  appeared  Burleigh- 
House,  a  noble  pile  erected  by  that 
great  statesman,  the  Lord  Trea- 
surer Burleigh,  who  died  there  in 
1598.  It  was  adorned  with  four 
square  turrets,  and  afterwards  call- 
ed Exeter-House,  froui  the  title  of 
his  son  and  successor.  On  its  site 
was  erected  Exeter-'Change,  but 
which  did  not  at  that  time  succeed  ^ 
for  a  building  called  the  New  Ex- 
change, or  Britain's  Burse,  built 
with  the  materials  of  the  old  sta- 
bles of  Durham- House,  and  pa- 
tronised by  the  j'oyal  family,  took 
from  it  both  its  tenants  and  cus- 
tomers. These  buildings  were  pro- 
totypes of  our  bazaars;  and  in  the 
former,  disposing  of  her  goods  as  a^ 
milliner,  sat  the  reduced  Duchess  of 
Tyrconnel,  wife  to  Richard  Talbot, 
Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland  under 
James  II. :  she  for  a  short  time 
supported  herself  by  this  means, 
and  had  delicacy  enough  not  to 
wisli  l>er  real  pretensions  to  be 
known.  She  sat  in  a  white  mask, 
was  dressed  in  white;  and  was  known 
by  the  name  of  the  wbite  widow. 
Her  rank  being  discovered,  she  wass 
otherwise  provided  for. 


*rhe  favourite  Carillon  Overture  to 
the  popular  Aqua^Dramo,  entitled 
Philip  ane^  His  Dog,  or 
«  Where's  the  CMldf'  in  which  is 
introduced  the  celebrated  Air  ^'-  Oh ! 
rest  thee,  Babe,'''  performed  at  Sad- 
ler's Wells  Theatre,  composed  and 
adapted  for  the  Piano- Forte  by 
John  Whitaker.  Pr.  5s. 
This  overture  consists  of  three 
movements:  the  first,  an  allegro 
in  E  b,  is  set  with   considerable 


MUSICAL  REVIEW.  ,;,i,on  .jid 

taste  and  spirit ;  some  of  tbe  idea? 


are  peculiarly  select,  and,  as  far  as 
the  piano-forte  extract  enables  us 
to  judge,  the  wind-instruments  ap- 
pear introduced  with  much  effect. 
The  second  movement  is  formed  by 
the  air  "  Oh !  rest  thee,  Babe,"  of 
which  we  have  on  a  former  occa- 
sion spoken  in  terms  so  favourable, 
that  any  further  encomium  on- what 
we  consider  as  one  of  the  happiest 
offsprings  of  Mr.  W.'s  lyric  muse^ 


WrSICAL  REVIKW. 


355 


would  be  supcirtuous.     The   last  , 
movement,  an  ;irulante,  is  reiulered  [ 
atinu;iive  by  the  iiiirodiiciion    ol 
musical  bells,  wiiich  carry  the  u»e-  , 
lady  ot"  the  suhject,  and  of  several  j 
))oriioiis  of  the  subsequent  matter:  [ 
but  without  this  adveniiiious  sup- 
port, the  v\  hole  texture  of  the  an- 
dante is  jileasing  and  chaste,  and 
its  plan  and  execution  are  in  pro- 
per style. 

"  On  Batiks  of  hlu^h'ni^  Roses,''^ 
sung  bif  Master  li  Uliams  in 
"  Philip  and  his  I^og,""  S^c.  com- 
posed by  John  Whitaker.  Pr. 
Is.  Od, 

In  the  melody  of  this  song  we 
observe   that   sweet  sinij)licity    of 
musical    diction,    proper    connec- 
tion   of  ideas,    and    rejj;ularity    of 
rhythm,  whicli  form  the  essence  of 
compositions  of  this    description.  '< 
The  unaffected  expression  of  the  I 
words,  "  And  artless  love  attunes  I 
his  lay,"  and   the  neatness  of  the  ' 
burden,   "  On  banks  of  biusliing  ! 
roses,"    {p.  3)    appear   to  us   the  Ij 
most  attractive  passages  of  the  air. 
*'  The  Dog  is  his  Master  s  Protector 
and  Friend^''  snng  by  Mr.  '^lader 
in  "  Philip  and  his  Dog,"  corn- 
posed    by   John    Whitaker.     Pr. 
Is.  6d. 

Although  this  little  song  exhi- 
bits nothing  novel  or  jieculiarly 
striking,  its  composition  is  proper 
and  respectable,  and  the  expres- 
sion at  "  poor  fellow"  extremely 
natural  and  pathetic.  In  the  se- 
cond and  third  lines  of /?.  Q,  it  was 
evidently  owing  to  the  unsatisfac- 
tory arrangements  of  the  poetry 
that  a  more  appropriate  musical 
expression  was  not  devised  by  the 
composer,  so  as,  at  the  same  time, 
to  be  applicable  '.o  the  second 
Stan swsjiiyi.. ?.'.//  .•'!<.'  , 


1  ''  Summer  will  ro/iic   again,    Ladi/ 
fair,"    sung  hi/   Miss    Tipton   in 
"  Philip  and  his  JJog,''  composed 
by  John  Whitaker.     Pr.  Is,  Od. 
An    interesting  little   ballad    of 
smooth  and  agreeable  melody.  The 
jKissage,  "  While  a  maiden  fair  her 
hands  who  wrung,"  possesses  a  pe- 
culiar degree  of  pleasing  ingenu- 
ousness,   although    at    "  minstrel" 
the  voice  would   have  more  natu- 
rally conje  to  a  close  with  the  notes 
G,B,A ;  G— instead  of  B,  A,  B  ;  G. 
The  words  "  never,    never,"  are 
likewise  aptly  rendered. 
"  2'he  queer  Utile  Man,''  sung  by  Mr. 
IVesion  in  "  Philip  and  his  Dog,'^ 
composed     by     John    Whitaker. 
Pr.  Is.  6d. 

In  a  humorous  song  of  this  de- 
scription, com))osers  generally  ex* 
ert  their  talent  with  a  sparing  hand, 
so  as  to  leave  free  play  to  the  poe- 
try, the  delivery  of  which  frequently 
approaches  more  to  recitation  than 
singing.  W  ith  this  allowance,  we 
not  only  consider  the  ntelody  of 
"  The  queer  little  man"  as  ade- 
quate to  the  purpose  intended,  but 
in  one  particular  passage  highly  in 
character.  We  allude  to  the  words 
"  He  saw  something  tall,"  whicTi 
are  most  appropriately  expressed 
by  both  the  voice  and  the  bass  ac- 
companiment. 

The  II  anderers,   a  favourite   Duety 
snng  bif  Mrs.   Ashe  and  Master 
Barnett   at    th£    Bath    Concerts, 
composed,  and  (by  permission)  re- 
spectfully dedicated  to  J.  Braham, 
Esq.  by  Master  Barnett,  zvrilien 
by  JV.  Bristo'u,  Esq.     Pr,  Ss, 
As  this  is  the  first  specimen  of 
Mr.  Barnett's  compositorial  al)i!i- 
lies  that  has  come  under  (mr  cog- 
nizance, we  feel  real  pleasure  in 
beinrj;  able  to  introduce  it  to  the 


356 


MUSICAL   KEVIEW. 


notice  of  our  readers  with  unfeign- 
ed approbation.  The  duet  is  of 
small  compass,  and  neither  its  sim- 
ple melody,  nor  the  harmonic  sup- 


niou,  carries  the  prize.  It  is  a 
production  of  decided  merit.  Whe- 
ther it  was  owing  to  the  superior 
cast  of  the  text,  or  to  the  genial 


port  on  which  it  rests,  exhibits  any  !,  spark  of  a  happy  hour,  we  are 
decisive  features  of  originality  or  |  bound  to  declare,  that  the  whole  of 
striking  effect;  but  the  few  ideas  [this  composition  is  conceived  and 
of  which  this  performance  consists,  1  conducted  in  a  classic  style:  it  is 
are  in  themselves  tastefully  con-  ;|  full  of  animation;  its  various  pe- 
ceived,  and  developed  with  proper  ,j  riods  originating,  as  it  were,  from 
method  :  a  smooth  connection  links  jj  each  other,  form  an  elegant  and 
them  to  each  ot!)er,  and  ihe  accom-  'vvell-linked  tout-eiisembh;  and  the 
paniment,  plain  and  unlaboured  as  accompaniments,  duly  diversified, 
it  has  been  devised,  is  satisfactory  i  are  throughout  tasteful  and  well 
and  efficient,  if  we  except  the  be-  ;  applied.  In  the  apportionment  of 
ginning  ot  the  symphony,  where  the  words,  too,  however  extended 
the  bass,  instead  of  exhibiting  fun- I  into  frequent  repetition,  Mr.  M. 
damental  chords,  ascends  by  sixths  :  has  exercised  a  considerable  de- 
derived  from  their  inversions.  This  \\  gree  of  judgment,  especially  where 
Jiarmony,  iowever  allowable  and  I  he  has  contrived  to  mould  the  lat- 
proper  ir.  me  repetition  of  a  pe-  ter  half  of  the  text  into  a  distinct 
riod,  or  in  the  body  of  the  piece,  and  extremely  interesting  ~  part, 
is  objectionable  at  its  outset.  It  '  The  eiui  is  wound  up  in  a  brilliant 
should  have  been  similar  to  that  style,  perfectly  corresponciintr  with 
where  the  voice  begins  [p.  4).  The  \  the  general  tenor  of  the  whole, 
continual  F's,  too,  in  the  bass  of  |^  Compamn?/  to  ihe  Ba/l-Hoom, 
the  last  line  of  that  page,  we  could 'i  containing  a  choice  Collection  of 
wish  to  have  been  avoided.    In  the         ihe    most    original   and   admired 


Countn/  Dance,  Reel,  Horn-pipe, 
and  IValz  Tunes,  u-ith  a  Variety  of 
appropriate  Figures,  the  Etiquette 
and  a  Dissertation  on  the  State  of 
the  Bail- Room,  by  Thomas  Wil- 
son. Pr.  extra-boards,  8s. 
The  present  compendious  pub- 


sixth  page  we  observe  with  satis-  > 
faction  the  short  strain  in  B  minor,  i 
as  operating  an  appropriate  tem- 
porary relief.  Upon  the  whole,  we  !■ 
consider  this  duet  as  a  most  pro-  ' 
niising  earnest  of  future  efforts  of  , 
greater  import.     Mr.  Barnett  is  in  :i 

the  right  road,  and  we  strongly  re-     lication  having  been  submitted  to 

commend  to  him  the  study  of  the     our  inspection,  we  feel  the  more 

science,  and  of  the  classic  masters  jl  justified  in  giving  it  a  space  in  our 

of  Italy  and  Germany.  ji  catalogue,  as  we  are  confident  t»o 

"  Beauty  smiling  through  her  Tears,''  :  work  of  the  same  price  exhibits  a 

a  favourite  !Song,   sung  bt/  il/m  |  greater  collection  of  musical  pieces 

Tunstall    at    Vauxhalt   GarJews  '  for  the  ball-room.     Their  number 

written    by    Mr.    John    J?o«t?o//,  ;  fails  little  short  of  400,  consisting 

cow;)oserf  by  J.Monro.  Pr.  Is.  6d.  ,  of  allemaudes,  cotillions,  English, 


Of  all  the  Vauxhall  songs  that 
have  come  under  our  notice  for 
some  years  past,  this,  ia  our  opi- 


Scotch,  and  Irish  tunes,  fandangos 
and  boleros,  gavottes,  hornpipes, 
marches,  minuets,  reels,  and  walzes. 


MUSICAL  ia;viEW. 


357 


Even  to  the  musician,  a  reference  { 
to  such  a  collection,  facilitated  as  \ 
it  is  by  a  proper  index,  becomes  ! 
occasionally  desirable. 

As  dancing  forms  no  part  of  the 
acquirements  we  are  possessed  of, 
we  are  incapacitated  from  giving 
an  opinion  on  the  scicntilic  merits 
of  Mr.  W.'s  labour,  and  shall  there- 
fore briefly  state  its  several  chap- 
ters of  contents.  In  the  introduc- 
tion the  elemecits  of  the  ^  science" 
of  dancing  are  concisely  set  forth, 
and  the  musical  branch  of  it  ap- 
pears to  us  treated  with  great  pro- 
priety. As  Mr.  W.  very  justly 
dwells  upon  the  importance  of  the 
proper  time  to  be  observed  in  eve- 
ry dancing  tune,  and  as  the  Italian 
terms  of  a//t;£f;o,  &c.  are  avowedly 
insufficient  for  that  purpose,  we 
are  surprised  he  has  not  indicated 
all  his  tempos  according  to  Maf.L- 
ZEL's  MiiTUONOME,  which  alfords 
an  universal  standard  of  musical 
time,  because  it  enables  us  to  in- 
dicate how  many  crotchets,  qua- 
vers, &c.  go  to  one  minute.  To 
return  to  the  work  before  us,  we 
proceed  to  observe,  that  the  intro- 
duction is  foUoweil  !)y  some  hun- 
dreds of  dancing  tunes  of  every 
description,  set  in  simple  melod}-, 
and  accompanied  by  the  necessary 
figures  and  other  instructions. 
This  naturally  forms  the  most  vo- 
luminous and  important  part  of 
|he  work.  A  "  dissertation"  on 
the  present  state  of  the  English 
ball-room  fills  the  next  chaj)ter, 
an<i  the  book  concludes  with  an 
essay  on  the  "  etiquette"  of  the 
ball-room. 

*'   Bi/  that   Sniile,^^    extracted  fiom 

X'i'ENAnrON,  adapted  to  the  Air 

iff  "  llelar  me  swear  how  mucJi  1 

,7j^^^\aud.  arrangid  uith  ati  xlc- 


companiinnit  for  the.  Piofio- Forte 
or  Harp,  by  F.  J.  Klose.  Pr.  2s. 
The  air  to  which  Mr.  Klose  has 
adapted  tliis  fragment  of  poetry,  is 
not  only  well  suited  to  it,  but  of  so 
chaste  and  fascinating  a  melody, 
that  we  cannot  but  applaud  the 
taste  af)d  judgment  of  his  choice. 
The  instrumental  accompaniment 
appears  to  us  satisfactory  and  ef- 
fective. 

"  Ah!  sigh  not  thus,''''   the  favourite 
Farezcell  extracted  from  Glenar- 
Ton,  adapted  to  a  celehruted  Irish 
Me/odt/,  arraii(fed  zcilh  an  ylccom- 
pauiment  for  the  Pnuio-  Forte  or 
//«/•/?,  by  F.J.  Klose.     Pr.  2s. 
If  we  copied  word   for  word  our 
account  of    the   above-mentioned 
publication   of  Mr.  K.'s,   it  would 
precisely  apply  to  the  present  one, 
which    is    equally    attractive    and 
well    arranged.      The    E    in    the 
seventh  bar  of  the   3d   page,  al- 
though again  occurring  in  the  same 
passage  of  the  4th   page,  we  con- 
sider as  a  typographical  error,  be- 
cause in  the  conclusion  of  p.  5,  D 
appears,    as    it    should   do,    in    its 
place. 

Preludes  in  all  the  Major  and  Minor 
Ket/s,  forming  the  third  Part  of 
Practical  Instructions  for  the 
Piano  -  Forte,  by  T.  Howell. 
Pr.  5s. 

The    two  former   parts   of   Mr. 
:  H.'s  Practical  Instructions  for  the- 
I  Piano- Forte  have  been   noticed  in 
j  Nos.  VII.  and   X.  of  the  Second 
Series  of  the   Repository/,  in  terms 
i  deservedly    favourable;     and    the 
'  perusal   of  this  third  and  last  por- 
tion of  his  meritorious,  and  we  may 
say  arduous  labour,  fully  confirms 
1  the  good  opinion  we  had  formed  of 
;  his    qualifications  both   as   an    hir 
strucior  and   composer.      Mr.  I^. 


558 


MKJSlCAL  REVIEW. 


ajipears  fully  to  understand  what  a 
prelude  ought  to  be  ;  this  we  not 
only  collect  from  the  preface,  but 
from  the  preludes  themselves, 
which  possess  every  desirable  re- 
quisite of  this  by  no  means  easy 
species  of  composition.  Their 
style,  always  select  and  interesting, 
is  at  the  satne  time  properly  diver- 
sified. One  leading  idea,  which 
serves  as  !)asi£,  is  developed  with 
fanciful  freedom  into  a  variety  of 
luxuriant  ramifications,  and  con- 
stantly brought  back  to  a  satisfac- 
tory and  tasteful  termination.  With 
a  view  not  to  fetter  the  performer 
to  a  rigid  ineasure  of  time,  these 
preludes  are  not  divided  into  bars. 
However  laudable  the  intention 
may  be,  this  exjiecUent  has  by  no 
means  our  assent.  How  is  the 
young  performer  to  guess  whether 
he  should  |)lay  in  ^,  |,  or  f  time  ? 
how  is  he  to  know  where  to  place 
the  accent  r  The  description  of 
measure,  we  think,  might  at  least 
have  been  indicated  at  the  signa- 
ture. 

A  French  Air,  tcith  fariotions  for 
the  Flute,  with  an  Accompaniment 
either  for   the    Piano  -  Forte    or 
Harp,  or  for  J  iolin,  ( ?  two  Vio- 
lins), Tenor  and  I  ioloneello,  com- 
posed, and  dedicated  to  M.  Grand, 
by  L.  Drouet.   No.  VH.    Pr.  6s. 
A  short   but   highly   interesting 
adagio    (the    motivo  of   which    is 
borrowed  from  the  subject  of  the 
variations,)   serves  as  an  introduc- 
tion  to   the  latter.      The   French 
air  which   forms  the  theme  of  the 
variations,  is  not   familiar  to  us  ; 
but   its  smooth    simplicity   is   ex- 
tremely attractive,  and  has  atibrded 
ample  scope  to  the  fertile  and  clas- 
sic fancy  of  Mr.  D.  to  deduce  four 
variations,  which_,  in  our  judgment, 


are  not  surpassed,  in  point  of  mel- 
low fluency  and  elegance,  by  any 
similar  production  of  Mr.  D.'s, 
nor  certainly  by  the  labour  of  any 
other  writer  for  the  flute.  The 
third  and  fourth  variations,  in  par- 
ticular, appear  to  us  conspicuous 
for  tlie  beauty  and  select  character 
of  their  passages;  but  it  is  not  a 
performer  of  common  ability  that 
will  do  justice  to  their  merit.  We 
much  applaud  the  twofold  mode 
of  publication  given  to  this  work, 
since  the  accompaniment  of  the 
piano-forte  is  more  easily  obtained 
than  the  assemblage  of  two  violins, 
a  tenor,  and  a  bass. 
Harmonic  Cards,  on  a  new  and 
easy  Plan,  which  will  enable  the 
Student  in  a  short  time  to  attain  a 
thorough  Knowledge  of  all  the 
Chords,  their  Origin  atid  Use: 
translated  from  the  French,  with 
considerable  additions  and  improve^ 
ments,  by  J.  Jousse.  Pr.  8s. 
The  novelty  and  the  principal 
merit  of  this  publication  is  simply 
this  :  —  As  from  the  fundamental 
chords  secondary  and  compound 
chords  are  formed  by  the  mere  in- 
version or  shifting  of  the  notes 
which  constitute  the  fundamental 
chords,  the  "  Harmonic  Cards'^  are 
so  devised  as  to  enable  the  student 
to  effect  the  inversion  by  actual 
loco-motion,  i.e.  by  successively 
transferring  the  note,  which,  as 
bass,  formed  the  basis  of  the  chord, 
from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of  the 
group,  so  that  every  note  of  the 
chord  becomes  bass  in  its  turn. 
I'his  might  have  been  accomplished 
by  allotting  to  each  card  only  one 
note;  but  in  order  to  extend  the 
use  and  application  of  this  inge- 
nious system,  every  card  coataiiirs 
the   seven  notes  of   the  diatonic 


MUSICAL   REVILW. 


359 


scale  arranged  in  vertical  columns, 
by  which  means  the  same  descrip- 
tion of  chord  is  at  once  represented 
upon  every  note  in  the  scale. 
Every  card,  moreover,  has  a  mar- 
gin in  which  the  name  of  the  chord, 
its  constituent  intervals,  its  (ignres, 
and  (in  the  case  of  discords)  its  re- 
sohitions,  are  concisely  explained. 
In  the  cards  for  the  dissonant 
ciiords,  the  elements  of  their  se- 
veral resolutions  are  further  illus- 
trated hy  additional  vertical  co- 
lumns inserted  between  the  seven 
tiotes  of  the  scale  ;  which  coluning 
exhibit  the  notes  into  which  every 
nicniber  of  the  chord  glides  in  its 
resolution.  Here,  wo  thhik,  it 
wt)uld  have  been  well,  when  the  re- 
solution goes  iiptcardsy  to  have 
placed  the  note  into  which  it  is 
eftected  above  the  note  from  wliSch 
such  resolution  takes  place,  in- 
stead of  putting  them  all  he/ozc. 
As  our  room  prevents  us  from  en- 
tering into  great  detail,  we  omit 
several  meritorious  features  of  this 
compendious  system  of  chords,  the 
use  of  which  is  particularly  striking 
in  the  formation  of  compound 
chords,  or  chords  by  supposition. 
A  little  book  accompanies  the 
cards,  and  serves  to  illustrate  the 
manner  of  using  them,  both  by 
letter-  press  and  explanatory  plates. 
To  become  fully  master  of  the  an-  I 
thur's  nic'thod,  a  little  attentive  I 
study  will  previously  be  found  ne- 
cessary ;  but  the  application  of  the 
pupil  cannot  fail  being  amply  re- 
warded by  the  l)t  iiefit  which  must ' 
accrue  to  him  from  this  preparatory 
labour.  As  we  have  not  seen  the 
original  of  this  translation,  we  can- 
fiOt  judge  of  the  quantity  and  qtia- 
lity  of  Mr.  Jousse's  in^provements; 
Iwt  whatever  tJievbe,  he  deserves 
FoL  11.  N(K  Xll. 


the  thanks  of  the  English  student 
for   bavins  translated  so  useful  a 
work  on  British  soil, 
A  tlilrd   Trio  for  t lie  Piano- Fortef 
nith  Accompaniments  for  a  Violin 
and  Violoncello,  composed  and  dedi- 
cated to  his  friend,  Cumile  Pleijel, 
by    F.    Kalkbrenner.     Op.  25. 
Pr.  6s. 

Often  as  we  have  occasion  to 
em[)loy  our  critical  functions  upon 
new  productions  of  this  author,  we 
as  often  find  that  the  fecundity  of 
the  parent  Muse,  instead  of  being 
rnjnrious  to  the  progeny,  rather 
tends  to  rendrr  it  more  perfect; 
and  thus  our  duty  invarialdy  be- 
comes a  pleasure  in  a  progressive 
ratio.  ;  In  the  present  trio,  Mx> 
K.  includes  four  movements;  at) 
allegro  in  B  C  major,  a  presto  (|), 
in  the  same  key,  an  adagio  in  F 
major,  and  a  rondo  in  B  C.  It  does 
not  fall  within  our  space  to  quote 
the  manifold  instances  of  com- 
posi-iorial  skill  and  cultivated  taste 
which  obtrude  themselves  in  every 
page  of  the  allegro;  its  energetic 
subject,  the  excellent  countei-- 
points  in  the  second  and  third  lines 
p.  2  (and  correspondingly  in  the 
second  strain),  the  elegant  quick 
passages,  p.  3,  supported  by  a  bass 
in  the  character  of  the  subject,  the 
fine  modulations  at  the  «  iitset  of 
the  second  strain,  6cc.  ^c.  are  so 
many  tokens  of  the  hand  of  an  ex- 
perienced master  in  the  art.  The 
presto  is  replete  with  originality, 
and  its  trio  quite  novel  and.  ex- 
tremely interesting.  In  the  adagio, 
the  melody  of  which  is  not  through- 
out new,  we  see  the  classic  neat- 
ness of  Haydn's  style  :  every  thing 
breathes  tiic  utmost  softness  of 
elegant  expression  ;  the  passages 
deduced  from  the  theme  are  mel- 
3  B 


360 


MUSICAL   REVIEW. 


low  and  select ;  and  the  effect  of 
the  tremulant  semiquavers  (a  la 
Steibelt),  in  which  the  movement 
gradually  expires,  is  heightened 
by  the  fine  accompaniments,  or 
rather,  principal  parts,  assigned  to 
the  violin  and  violoncello.  The 
theme  of  the  rondo  combines 
gaiety  with  gracefulness ;  in  its 
progress  we  notice  the  cleverly 
converging  triplet-groups,  p.  1-1, 
and  the  able  counterpoints  and 
modulations,  p.  15.  All  this  occurs 
under  similar  forms  in  the  second 
strain  with  enhanced  effect,  and 
with  the  addition  of  new  and  first- 
rate  digressions,until,  by  resuming 
the  series  of  triplets,  the  whole  is 
wound  up  with  great  brilliancy. 
"  The  Garland  of  Love^''  an  Air^ 
with  I'ariations  for  the  Piano- 
Forte^  composed  for  and  dedicated 
to  Mrs.  Inglis  by  G.  Kiallmark. 
Pr.  2s.  6d. 

These  variations  in  C  are  not 
only  written  in  good  style,  but 
they  are  very  pleasing,  and  by  no 
means  intricate  in  point  of  execu- 
tion. The  principal  feature  of 
var.  1.  is  the  crossing  of  the  hands, 
which  is  managed  with  neat  effect. 
Var.  2.  sets  out  in  A  minor,  but 
forthwith  proceeds  to  A  major,  in 
which  key  it  continues  till  nearly 
its  termination.  No.  3.  is  thrown 
into  passages  of  rapid  motion, 
which,  although  fluent  and  select, 
lie  kindly  to  the  hand.  In  the  4th 
and  last  variation  the  melody  is 
ably  cast  into  |  time  ^  and  the  coda, 


which  is  appended  to  it,  is  well 
conceived  and  executed. 
A  third  favourite  Duet  for  two 
Performers  on  one  Piano- Forte, 
inscribed  by  permission  to  the  Miss 
Stewarts,  and  composed  by  R.  W. 
Callender.  Op.  4.  Pr.  4s. 
In  this  duet,  which  consists  of 
an  allegro  and  a  rondo  in  B  C, 
Mr.  C.  seems  to  have  had  for  his- 
object  the  producing  a  composi- 
tion,which,  while  avoiding  any  in- 
tricate harmonic  evolutions,  should 
hold  out  to  amateurs  the  combined 
interest  of  good  and  pleasing  me- 
lody, equal  distribution  of  per- 
formance between  both  players, 
and  such  a  degree  of  executive 
ease  as  might  render  his  labour  ac- 
cessible to  a  numerous  class  ,pf 
students.  In  all  this  he  has  well 
and  creditably  attained  his  end. 
The  allegro  as  well  as  the  rondo 
are  devised  with  much  taste;  the 
two  performers  act  generally  con- 
certante,  and  frequently  imitate 
each  other  in  responsive  passages 
of  peculiar  neatness.  As  an  in- 
stance particularly  commendable, 
we  shall  quote  the  second  strain  of 
the  rondo,  pp.  8  and  9,  which  is  re- 
plete with  clever  contrivance.  Tl^e 
quiet  passages  likewise  have  our 
complete  approbation.  In  short, 
the  whole  of  this  duet  is  of  that 
satisfactory  complexion,  which  ei>- 
ahles  us  strongly  to  recommend 
it  for  the  practice  of  students  that 
have  made  some  progress  q^  j|i^e 
instrument.  .,  jfjgg 

3fil  oi  -wcnl 


()  noiiRiimi 
has  JwBdti 
/      .9§niii 


FMOMEIfABE      BlRE  §  S 


CAI^JRIACJE    BRJES.^ 


361 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


PLATE  34. — PROMENADI-;  DRESS. 
^•'  A  HIGH  dress  of  cambric  muslin 
trimmed  at  the  bottom  with  a 
single  flounce  of  work.  The  body, 
which  is  composed  entirely  of 
work,  fits  the  shape  without  any 
fulness.  A  plain  long  sleeve, 
finished  by  a  triple  fall  of  narrow 
lace.  Over  this  dress  is  worn  the 
Angouleme  pelisse,  composed  of 
crimson  velvet,  lined  with  white 
sarsnet,  and  trimmed  with  a  single 
welt  of  crimson  satin,  a  shade 
lighter  than  the  pelisse.  The  body 
is  made  exactly  to  the  shape  ;  the 
back  is  of  course  a  moderate 
breadth,  and  without  fulness  :  for 
the  form  of  the  front  we  refer  our 
readers  to  our  print ;  it  is  confined 
at  the  waist,  which  is  very  short,  by 
a  narrow  velvet  band,  edged  to 
correspond.  A  small  collar,  of  a 
novel  and  pretty  shape,  stands 
up  and  supports  a  rich  lace  ruff, 
which  is  worn  open  in  front  of  the 
throat.  The  sleeve  has  very  little 
fulness,  and  that  little  is  confined  at 
the  wrist  by  three  narrow  bands  of 
puckered  satin.  Bonnet  a  la 
Royah,  composed  of  while  satin, 
very  tastefully  intermixed  with  a 
large  bunch  of  fancy  flowers,  and 
tied  under  the  chin  by  a  white 
satin  ribbon,  which  is  brought  in  a 
bow  to  the  left  side  ;  a  full  quilling 
of  tulle  finishes  the  front.  Black 
silk  ridicule,  exquisitely  worked  in 
imitation  of  the  ends  of  an  India 
shawl,  and  trimmed  with  black  silk 
fringe.  Mliite  kid  gloves,  and 
^lack  walking  shoes, 


PLATE  35. — CARRIAGE  DRESS. 

A  gown  of  pale  faun -colour 
cloih,  made  a  walking  length,  and 
trimmed  round  the  bottom  with 
four  rows  of  rich  blue  silk  trim- 
ming. The  body,  which  is  cut 
very  low,  is  ornamented  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  have  a  novel  ap- 
pearance, with  a  similar  trimming, 
but  very  narrow.  The  buck,  which 
is  cut  down  on  each  side,  is  finished 
at  the  bottom  of  the  waist  by  bows 
and  long  ends,  trimmed  to  cor- 
respond. A  very  tasteful  half 
sleeve  over  a  plain  long  sleeve, 
made  tight  at  the  wrist,  and  bound 
with  blue  trimming  ;  it  is  finished  by 
a  narrow  ruffle  composed  of  three 
i2k[UoUuUe ;  fichu  oUuIle,\\\\\\  aruff 
to  correspond.  When  worn  as  a  car- 
riage dress,  the  head-dress  is  a  bon- 
net, the  crown  composed  of  white 
satin  at  top,  and  the  middle  and 
front  of  Leghorn;  it  is  lined  with 
white  satin,  and  ornamented  only 
by  a  white  satin  band  and  strings. 
An  India  shawl  is  also  indispensa- 
ble to  it  as  a  carriage  dress,  for 
which  it  is  elegantly  appropriate, 
Shoes  and  gloves  pale  faun  colour. 

Our  dresses  this  month  are  both 
French  ;  but,  as  our  readers  will 
perceive  from  our  prints,  they  are 
in  the  best  style  of  Parisian  cos- 
tume. ^^'e  have  been  favoured 
with  them  by  a  lady  who  has  just 
returned  from  Paris. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS    ON 
FASHION  AND  DRESS. 

The  court  mourning  for  our  be-. 
3  B  2 


562 


GENEllAL   ODSEUVATIONS    ON    FASHION   AND   DRESS. 


loved  queep's  august  brotlier  has 
retarded  tiie  appearance  of  those 
novelties,  some  of  wliich.  we  shall 
describe  to  our  fair  readers  ;  it  is, 
however,  expected  to  be  short,  and 
as  it  affords  us  no  materials  for  de- 
scription, we  shall  proceed  to  speak 
of  what  is  expected  to  be  most  in 
request  among  belles  of  taste  at  its 
close. 

For  the   walking  costume  cloth 
will  be  most  fashionable,  and  dark 
colours   are  likely   to    be  a   great 
deal  worn,  particularly  brown   and 
dark  green.  We  have  nothing  par- 
ticular to   observe  respecting  pe- 
lisses, but  they  are  ex-pected  to  be 
worn,    and    we    believe    we    shall  I 
have  a  very  novel  one  to  describe  • 
next  month.     The   walking- dress  \ 
of  which  we  are  about  to  speak,  is 
very   tasteful    and  certainly   new  :  ' 
it  is   composed  of  brown    merino  ■ 
cloth,  made  a  walkiiig  length,  and  j 
trimmed  with  orange  satin,  which  ! 
is  laid  on  very  full  in  waves  ;    the  ' 
fulness  is  formed  into  tlie  shape  of; 
shells,  by  little  tufts  of  brown  floss  I 
silk.     The  effect  of  this  trimming 
is  really  beautiful.     The   body  is 
very  short  in  the  waist,  and  made  | 
quite  tight  to  the  shape  ;  it  conies 
up  to  the  throat,  an<l    has  a  small  ' 
collar,  which  is  cut  in  points,  as  is  j 
also  a  narrow  pelerine  cape,  set  on 
between  the  shoulder,  and  brought 
slanting  over  the  bosom  till  it  ends 
in    a   point  at    the  bottom  of  the 
waist;     tliese    points    are    lightly 
•embroidered    with    orange  silk   to 
match   the  trimming.     Plain  long 
sleeve,  rather  full,  and  very  long  ; 
it  is  confined  at  the  wrist   by  two 
jiarrovv  bands  of  byas  orange  satin, 
i9.nd  the  part  which   falls  over  the 
hand  is  pointed  to  correspond  with 
^iie  cape  ana  collar.    A  swuusdovvn 


tippet,  or  an  India  scarf,  must  al- 
ways bevvorn  with  this  dress. 

Poplin  and  levantine  higli  dresses, 
with  a  trimming  of  gauze  to  cor- 
respond,  will  be  in  request  with 
juvenile  or  hardy  elegantes.  The 
most  fashionable  form,  we  believe, 
will  be  the  one  which  we  have  just 
described  ;  but  the  gauze  trim- 
ming, of  which  there  are  two  falls 
tacked  together,  is  exceedingly 
preit\-,  and  differs  from  any  thing 
we  have  yet  seen.  A  roll  of  satin 
is  placed  between  the  two  falls  at 
top  to  form  a  heading,  and  the 
lower  part  is  disposed  in  draperies 
one  above  anotiier,  and  ornamented 
with  bows  of  ribbon.  This  trim- 
tning,  which  is  very  light  and 
tasteful,  will,  we  hope,  entirely  su- 
persede the  preposterous  number 
of  flounces  which  have  so  long  i©- 
jured.  the  j^retty  figures  of  such  of 
our  fair  country-women  who  are 
under  the  nuddle  size.  bned 

Cloth  shawls  will  be  most  ge- 
neral with  silk  or  poplin  dresses  ; 
we  need  scarcely  observe,  that  they 
must  be  of  tlie  finest  texture.  For 
trimming,  narrow  gold  binding, 
with  gold  tassels  at  the  ends  in 
front,  i^  likely  to  be  most  preva^ 
lent;  but  ermine  and  other  costly 
furs  will  be  also  in  estimation. 

Beaver,  velvet,  and  black  straw 
bonnets  are  all  talked  of,  and  fea- 
thers, to  correspond  in  general,  will 
be  universal.  V/e  have  seen  one 
of  the  prettiest  walking  bonnets 
which  has  api)eared  for  some  time: 
it  is  composed  of  purple  velvet, 
and  lined  with  white  satin  ;  the 
crown  is  round,  of  a  moderate 
height,  and  tinished  at  the  top  by 
a  wreath  of  purple  satin  leaves, 
which  go,  round  it;  the  front  is 
very  deep,  but   slopes   off  at  th^ 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    DRFSS. 


30.3 


ears,  and  shades  without  concealing 
the  lace  :  a  rich  purple  spot  silk 
liall'-handkerchief,  whic!)  has  a  nar- 
row border  of  white  cuihroidery 
roniid  the  edge,  ties  it  under  the 
chin  :  it  is  ornamented  with  a 
beautiful  plume  of  [)urple  feathers 
tipped  w  ith  white,  which  are  placed 
upri<rht  in  front.  The  shape  of 
this  bonnet  is  vtry  becoming,  and 
it  is  altogether  titgiint  and  lady- 
like. 

Much  alteration  will  undoubted- 
ly take  place  in  the  carri;ige  cos- 
tume, but  of  what  nature  we  have 
not  been  able  distinctly  to  ascer- 
tain, we  mean  as  to  the  forms  of 
dresses  :  with  resjiect  to  the  ma- 
terials, we  understand  that  fancy 
velvets  and  white  merino  cloths 
will  supersede  every  thing  else. 
If  the  dress  or  pelisse  is  of  fancy 
velvet,  a  toc(/ue  of  the  same  ma- 
terials, ornamented  with  a  satin 
band  and  a  profusion  of  feathers, 
will  be  worn  with  it;  if,  on  the 
contrary,  it  is  composed  of  white 
iiverino  cloth,  the  fortptc  must  be 
white  velvet,  tlie  band  gold,  and 
the  colour  of  the  feathers  will  de- 
pend on  the  trimniiiig  of  the  dress. 
We  understand  thai  coloured  vel- 
vet trimmings,  both  stamped  and 
plain,  will  be  very  fashianable.  | 

The    encouragement  which  her  j 
Majesty  and  Princesses  have  gra- 
ciously given  to  our  own  manufac-  | 
tures,  will,  we  liope,  induce  the  no-  '. 
bility   and  gentry   to    follow   their  ' 
example;    and,  as  in  consccpience  ; 
of  the  arrival   of  a  number  of  fa- 
uiiliesfr(>m  trance,  London  is  even 
iU)w  niore   than    usually    full,    we 
hope   and  expect  tlrat   trade   wilt  ! 
revive,   and   that  we  ^hall   have  a  [ 
very  l^rilliant  display  of  dinner  and  I 
evening  costume  to  present  to  our 


readers  with  next  month  ;  at  pre- 
sent we  are  in  doubt  what  ma- 
terials will  be  njost  fashionable. 
We  have  seen  some  beautiful  fancy 
velvets,  and  silks  flowered  in  the 
loom,  the  vivid  colours  and  glossy 
texture  of  which  were  ecpial,  if 
not  superior,  to  any  foreign  silk. 
We  have  seen  oue  dinner  dress 
made  for  a  lady  of  high  rank  who 
is  going  to  Paris,  and  as  the  gown 
is  novel  and  tasteful,  we  have  no 
doubt  it  will  be  in  general  estima- 
tion thronoh  the  winter. 

The  material  of  which  the  dress 
is  composed  is  white  poplin  of  the 
most  ^uperior  quality  ;  it  is  made  a 
walking  length,  the  skirt  very  full, 
but  gored  so  as  to  leave  only  a  mo- 
derate fulness  behind,  we  mean  at 
the  waist  :  it  is  cut  at  the  bottom 
of  the  skirt  in  very  deep  points, 
which  are  edged  witli  narrow  byas 
green  satin  ;  these  points  are  filled 
up  with  plain  blond  lace  laid  in  very 
full ;  the  fulness  is  fancifully  con- 
fined by  small  green  silk  orna- 
ments :  a  very  rich  flounce  of 
blond  lace  surmounts  the  points, 
and  another  finishes  it  at  bottom. 
Notliing  can  be  more  novel  or 
striking  than  the  elTect  of  this 
trimming.  The  back  of  the  dress 
is  composed  of  byas  folds  of  poplin, 
each  fold  edged  with  green  ;  the 
back  is  cntvery  low,  and  tb.e  fronts, 
which  just  meet  at  the  bottom  of 
the  waist,  are  byas  ;  they  are  also 
ed<red  with  green.  The  breast  is 
shaded  by  a  Jicftu  of  plain  blond 
made  extremely  full  ;  it  comes  np 
to  the  throat,  and  fastens  Ijehind 
with  small  lace  rosettes  edged  with 
green  satin ;  as  the  back  is  open  on 
each  side  down  to  the  bottom  of 
t!ie  waist,  these  rosettes  give  it  an 
uncommonly  pretty   fiinsh.      The 


364 


INTELLIGEIvCr',    LITERAUY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &.C. 


sleeve,  which  is  long,  is  composed  of 
plain  blond  ;  it  is  very  full  at  the 
toj),  with  an  intermixture  af  green 
satin,  which  is  let  in  plain,  and 
which  forms  a  kind  of  half-sleeve. 
A  triple  fall  of  plain  blond  at  the 
bottom,  edged  with  green  satin, 
and  two  bands  to  confine  the  ful- 
ness, finish  the  sleeve.  We  re- 
gret that  our  description  cannot 
aBbrd  an  adequate  idea  of  the  ver}? 
novel,  tasteful,  and  striking  effect 
of  this  dress. 


For  evening  costume  we  can 
only  say,  that  fancy  gauze,  and 
white  net  spotted  with  white  silk, 
are  likely  to  be  in  the  highest  esti- 
mation for  juvenile  6e//es,-  and  white 
satin,  white  and  figured  velvets, 
will  be  generally  adopted  by  ma- 
ture eligantes. 

We  can  say  nothin  g  of  jewel-' 
lery,  or  ornaments  for  the  hair,  till 
next  month. 

We  have  no  alteration  to  notice 
in  hair-dressinof. 


FASHIONABLE  FURNITURE. 

PLATI-:  32. — DRAWING-ROOM  WINDOW-CURTAIN, 


The  window  side  of  a  drawing- 
room,  furnished  with  draperies  of 
pecliliar  elegance,  is  represented 
by  the  annexed  plate,  the  design 


There  is  a  richness  united  with 
simplicity  in  the  forms  of  this  ar- 
rangement, that  is  very  pleasing, 
and  the    colours  are    happily  dis- 


of  which  is  from  the  manufactory  1  posed  to  exliibit  them  to  advaiit/tg^i 
ot'Mr.BullockjiuTenterden-street.  )'  ihr-d  i 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Mr.  William  Warden, surjreon 
of  the  Northumberland,  has  in  the 
press,  Letters  written  on  board  that 
ship  and  at   St.  Helena;  in  which,' 
the  conduct  and  conversations  of' 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  and  his  suite,  ' 
during  the  voyage,   and   the  first  , 


Young,  and  a  few  other  leading 
authors,  will  shortly  be  published 
with  new  embellishments  frooj  tlie 
designs  of  Mr.  Westall.  '^'''*"^""|;' 
The  Rev.  Dr.  Hawker  has  nearly 
completed  his  valuable  Commentary 
on  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  with 


months   of    liis    residence   in    that  }  the  text  at  large.     Part  xxxvii.  is 
island,  are  faithfully  described  and  |  just  published,  and  the  work  wiU 


related. 

Dr.  Jo!m  Styles  is  preparing  for 
publication.  Memoirs  and  Remains 
of  the  late  Rev.  Charles  Buck,  col- 
lected and  arranged  from  his  pa- 


be  finished  in  40  parts.  An  editiod^' 
without  the  text,  is  also  printed  on, 
a  very  cheap  scale.  "..'.'- 

A  new  edition  of  The  Antiquarian 
Cabinet  is  now  publishing  in  num- 


pers,  and  interspersed  with  obser-  '■.  hers,  each  containing  ten  plates, 
vations  illustrative  of  his  character:  {  ptinted  on  royal  octavo,  each  plate 
to  which  is  added  a  brief  Review  ,  forming  a  head-piece  to  the  de- 
of  his  various  publications.  The  scription.  This  arrangement  is  calV 
work  will  appear  in  January  next.  !;  culated  to  avoid  the  inconvenience* 
The  Poems  of  Milton,  Thomson,  [I  of  turning  the  book,  which  so  fre^' 


y 


^ 

fe 

1 


INTELI.IGI-NCi:,    I.ITl'.UAUV,   SCIKNTIFIC,    &C, 


365 


tjuently  occurs  ill  viewing;  tlie  plates  i 
ol  tlie  first  edition;  besides  this  ! 
important  advantage,  the  work  will  j 
thus  be  comprised  in  about  five  or  !' 
six  volumes,  of  a  more  elegant  , 
size  than  the  former  edition,  and  at 
about  half  the  price:  ten  nuiiil)ers  { 
will  form  a  volume,  comprising  100  ' 
plates. 

Mr.  Britton's  Uialory  and  Anli- 
quilies  of  tlie  Abbei/  Church  at  Bulh, 
is  in  the  press,  and  will  appear  early 
in  the  year   1817.     It  will   consist 
of  a  copious  history  and   descrip- 
tion of  that  curious  and  latest  spe-  ! 
cimen  of  English  ecclesiastical  ar-  ■ 
chitecture;  also  a  novel  Essay  on  j 
Epitaphs,  by  the  Rev.  John  Cony-  i 
beare,  professor  of  poetry  to  ti.e  j, 
University  of  Oxford.     The  e.-say  |i 
will  be  elucidated  by  exaiujjles  of 
various  styles  and  classes  of  epi- 
taphs from  that  church,  which  may  i 
be  called  the  western  mau.wk'uiii  (>f\ 
invaluh.      Like   the  abbey  church  ; 
of  Westminster,    that  of   Bath    is 
filled  with  sepulchral  monuments, 
and  thus  becomes  a  sort  of  show- 
room for  statuary,  and  a  magazine 
of  epitaphs.     This  volume  will   be  ' 
embellished    with    eight    beautiful 
engravings,  by  J.  and  H.  Le  Keux, 
&c.    from    drawings    by    F.    IMac- 
kepzie.  , 

Mr.  Britton  has  completed  his 
History  and  Antiquities  of  Noncich 
Cathedral,  being  the  second  volume 
of  his  elegant  work  devoted  to 
those  interesting  national  fabrics. 
This  volume  contains  twenty-live 
engravings,  most  of  which  are  exe- 
cuted in  a  very  superior  style  by 
J.  and  H.  Le  Keux,  from  draw- 
ings by  J.  A.  Repton,  architect,  F. 
Mackenzie,  and  11.  Cattermole. 
Theletter.press,  consisting  of  about 
90  pages,  embraces  a  complete  his- 


tory and  description  of  the  church, 
the   palace,  and  depeiulani  build- 
ings, with  accounts  of  the  monu- 
ments and  the  bishops.     It  is  pro- 
per to  observe,  that  the  prints  in 
this  work  are  executed  by  tlie  best 
engravers,  and   are   calculated    to 
aObrd  the  most  satisfactory  infor- 
mation  to   the  picturesque  artist, 
to  the  antiquary,  and  to  the  archi- 
tect, as  they  represent  both  gene- 
ral views  of  the  church  externrJly 
and  internally,  plans  of  the  whole 
and  of  parts,  and  such  sections  and 
elevations  as  serve  to  display  the 
construction  or  anatomy  of  the  edi- 
fice.—  With    the    present   volume 
also  is  published  the  first  number 
of  the  same  autl.or's  illustrations  of 
Ij'inchester  Cathedra/,  which  will  be 
comprised    in    five    numbers,    and 
will  embrace  thirty  engravings,  re- 
presenting the  general  ami   parti- 
cular architecture  and  sculpture  of 
that  truly   interesting   edifice.     Jt 
is  very  curious  and   instructive  to 
examine  the  varieties  and  dissimi- 
larities in  the  churches  of  Salisbu- 
1  ry,  Norwich,  and  Winchester  :   as 
it  will  be  seen,  that  not  any  two 
prints    resemble   each  other;  that 
j  each  church,  in  the  whole  and  in 
'detail,  is   unlike   the  others;  and 
I  that  the  sculpture,  monuments,  and 
;  history  of  every  one,  are  peculiar 
I  to    itself,  and    have  scarcely  any 
'  analoorv  to  the  other  two.     In  the 
j  west   fronts,    naves,  aisles,  choirs, 
I  transepts,  towers,  and  chapels,  each 
1  cathedral  has  its  own  exclusive  cha- 
racter, style,  and  age;  and  in  i's 
'  historic  relations  and  prelaticalb.o- 
'  graphy,  we  find  much  variety  and 
!  distinctive  information.    Henci-the 
',  admirer  of  the  subject  and  gene- 
ral antiquary  need  not  apprehend 
sameness   or   satiety :   for   though 


366 


ORNAMENTS   FOR   PAINTING   ON   WOOD   AND   FANCY   WORK. 


the  feast  laid  before  him  be  rich 
and  highly  seasoned,  it  can  never 
surfeit  or  cloy  the  most  delicate 
appetite;  but  rather  indeed,  like 
Jove,  it  will  be  found  to  "  increase 
with  what  it  feeds  on." 

No.  V.  of  H avail's  Villas,  &c. 
is  published,  and  contains  a  view 
of  Cassiobury,  the  seat  of  the  Ear! 
of  Essex,  from  I'urncr,  R.  A.;  and 
:i  view  of  Corsham- House,  the  seat 
of  Paul  Methuen,  Esq.  M.P.  from 
Fielding;  with  historical  and  de- 
scriptive accounts  of  the  two  seats, 


for  assisting  !. earing,  particularly 
his  artificial  ears  for  deiif  per- 
sons which  were  first  introduced  in 
France,  where  they  were  manu- 
factured :  by  being  adapted  to  the 
ear,  they  increase  the  collection  of 
sound.  But  besides  the  collection 
of'sound,  there isan additional  force 
wanted  to  transmit  it  througn  the 
passage:  in  this  re -pact  the  French 
invention  is  deficient,  and  there- 
fore does  not  sufficiently  answer 
the  purpose.  IV)  remedy  this  de- 
fect,  he    has  added  a  small   tube, 


by  J.  Britton,  F.  S.  A.     The  prints  ;  which,  by  coutraciing  the  passage, 


are  coloured  in  close  imitation  of 
the  drawings. 

A  Course  of  Lectures  has  been 


will  occasion  the  sound  to  enter 
with  greater  force.  Tlie  form  of 
this  invention  is  particularly  con- 


delivered  by  Mr.  Curtis,  surgeon  [j  venient,  in  consecpience  of  tlteir 
and  aurist,  of  Soho-square,  a  ne-  \\  being  easily  applied  over  the  natu- 
phew  of  the  late  celebrated  bota-  !i  ral  ear,  which  they  resemble.  The 
nistof  that  jiame,  on  tlie  Anatomy,  !' same  gcntlen'an  has  invented  a 
Physiology,  and  Diseases  of  the  |j  hcnring-trumpet,  forming  a  para- 
Far.  The  course  will  be  regularly  [I  bolic  conoid,  on  the  same  princi- 
continueil,  and  it  is  hoped,  direct  j!  pie  as  the  speaking-trumpet  used 
the  attention  of  the  profession  to  ,  at  sea,  which  is  so  wf  11  known  to 
the  diseases  of  an  organ  which  has  !  answer  the   purpose  of  extending 


hitherto  been  much  neglected.  In 
this  course  Mr.  Curtis  has  intro- 
duccil  a  number  of  improvements 
on  the  instruments  commonly  used 


the  impression  of  sound.  It  has 
this  convenience,  that  it  shuts  up 
in  a  .sn)all  case  for  the  pocket. 


murnxsitiiisasfm 


Plate  30.— ORNAMENTS   FOR 

FANCY 

Among  the  many  pleasing  re-  \ 
creations  of  the  fair  sex,  is  that  of  1 
painting  and  ornamenting  Tun- 
hridge  and  fancy  ware,  which  at 
once  becomes  an  elegant  and  use-  j 
ful  amusement.  The  annexed  | 
plate  of  ornamental  patterns  is  the  | 
first  of  a  series,  given  with  a  view  j 
to  facilitate  tliis  interesting  em-  i 
ployment.  The  figures  are  re-  ! 
lievad    with    black,    purposely  to  ; 


PAINTING  ON  WOOD   AND 
WORK. 

shew  the  effect  when  finished  on 
the  work-box,  cabinet,  or  screen; 
and  when  varnished,  has  the  ap- 
]7earance  of  ivory  inlaid  on  ebony  : 
a  great  variety  of  which,  with  the 
colour  properly  prepared,  may  be 
had  at  the  Repository  of  Arts. 
Many  of  the  borders  will,  accord- 
ing to  taste,  be  as  well  adapted 
for  muslin  patterns  as  painting. 


;3()7 


^octr?. 


ALBERT  AND  MATILDA: 

A    SERIOUS    U4LLAI). 
I. 

Matilda  was  a  peerless  maid, 
The  pride  of  Avon's  shore  ; 
Iltr  form  by  modesty  array'd. 
The  stamp  of  beauty  bore. 
2. 
The  brightest  gems  ihatdeck'd  her  hair. 

Were  dull  when  shone  her  eye  3 
Her  bosom  as  the  lily  fair. 
And  cheek  the  rose's  dye. 
3. 
Her  mother's  only  joy  and  pride. 

Since  Heav'n  had  ta'en  lier  sire; 
Nought  had  the  vvidow'd  heart  beside 
Terrestrial  to  desire. 
4. 
She  long  the  rural  theme  had  been. 

While  each  fond  youth  aspired. 
With  anxious  heart,  her  love  to  win, 
Who  was  by  all  admired. 
5. 
When  Albert,  lord  of  the  domain. 
First  heard  her  beauty  praised. 
This  lovely  flow'r  he  hoped  to  gain. 
Who  had  such  wonder  raised. 
C). 
For  still  as  novelty  inspired. 
From  tair  to  fair  he  roved. 
His  heart  by  each  new  beauty  fired, 
To  all  inconstant  proved. 
7. 
Had  but  his  treachery  been  known. 
He  ne'er  had  wrought  her  harm, 
Bui  his  fine  form  and  fair  renown 
,    Pussess'd  a  fatal  charm. 

8. 
He  sought  her  in  the  mazy  dance. 

And  by  his  manners  bland, 
With  stratagem  did  still  advance 
That  ruin  which  he  plann'd. 
9. 
As  pure  and  spotless  was  her  heart 

As  is  the  mountain  snow  ; 
How  could  she  think  those  words  but  art, 
Which  seemed  with  trulh  to  tlyw  .'' 

Vol.  11.  No.  A//. 


10. 


Where  was  Matilda's  guardian  pow'r. 

To  save  her  from  the  snare. 
When  Albert  sought  her  in  her  bow'f/ 
And  urged  a  fatal  pray'r — 
11. 
That  she  would  listen  to  his  vows. 

And  still  conceal  his  love. 
For  reasons  which  did  interpose. 
He  would  most  faithful  prove  ? 
!2. 
He  wiled  her  to  the  lonely  grove. 

So  soothing  was  his  tale; 
She  listen'd  to  his  vows  of  love, 
And  let  those  vows  prevail. 
13. 
For  liim  that  dearesi  home  she  left, 
Where  first  her  breath  she  drew, 
Her  motfier  too  of  hope  bereft, 
F'or  him  she  thought  so  true. 
14. 
Had  he  been  such,  he  ne'er  had  torn 

That  aged  breast  with  care, 
Nor  from  those  arms  her  child  had  borrif-, 
And  left  her  to  despair. 
15. 
When  fust  the  tidings  reach'd  her  ear. 

That  she  so  loved  had  fled. 
Her  frenzied  eye  refused  a  tear. 
Her  heart  to  hope  was  dead. 
16. 
She  pray'd  that  Heaven  her  child  might 
save, 
And  rescue  her  from  shame; 
Then  sunk  in  sorrow  to  her  grave. 
Still  murmuring  her  name. 
17. 
Hard  was  thy  fate,  ah!   hapless  fair! 

Too  cruel  was  thy  lot. 
When  Albert  left  thee  to  despair, 
And  all  hi*  vows  forgot  I 
IS. 
Matilda,  lack'd  with  mental  pain, 

Uttiring,  pined  in  thought; 
Then  for  li<;r  mother  felt  again. 
And  her,  distracted,  sought. 
3  C 


sm 


POETRY. 


19. 
Would  slie  receive  her  child  once  more, 

And  shield  her  from  the  scorn 
A  ruthless  world  would  on  her  pour. 
She  yet  might  cease  to  mourn. 
20. 
She  cross'd  the  vale  uhere  oft  in  youth. 

With  pleasure,  slie  had  stray'd; 
Each  charm  was  lost,  since  he  whose  truth 
She  trusted  had  bet  ray 'd. 
21. 
As  she  ihe  village  church  drew  nigh, 

She  felt  invading  ftar?;; 
VVish'd  o'er  her  father's  grave  to  sigh. 
And  water  it  vii^h  tears. 
22. 
Upon  the  grassy  mound  she*  knelt. 
And  thought  of  times  long  past; 
As  if  her  heart  would  break,  she  felt. 
And  wishM  each  sigh  her  last. 
23. 
Oh  !  could  she  rest  her  throbbing  hea<! 

Beneath  that  humble  sod. 
And  sir>k  among  the  peaceful  dead. 
Forgiven  by  her  God  ! 
2V. 
Drear  was  the  scene,  the  eve  was  cold, 

She  heard  the  screaming  owl ; 
Next  on  her  ear  the  death-bell  toUM, 
For  some  departed  soul. 
25. 
She  rose,  for  superstitious  dread 

Had  fill'd  her  with  dismay; 
Along  the  path  with  yews  o'erspread. 
She  trembling  bent  her  wav,        .      . 

26.  »^  --^s    • 
What  mournful  train  is  that  draws  near. 

With  strains  of  solemn  woe?  i 

They  sink  into  her  soul  with  fear,  ] 

She  dares  not  seek  to  know.  I 

27.  j 
Too  soon^,  alas!   poor  wither'd  flow'r, 

Thou'lt  wish  'uvere  endless  night: 
Thy  mother  too  has  felt  death's  povv'r— 
Ah  I  could'sl  thou  shun  the  sight ! 


S  O  8 


28. 
But  no,  It  is  not  Heaven's  will; 
Thy  fault  thou  must  atone  : 
Behold  a  sight  thy  blood  will  chill. 
Thy  heart  will  turn  to  stone ! 
29. 
She  saw  the  bier,  the  mourners  knew — • 

Truth  flash'd  upon  her  mind; 
With  her  last  hope  her  senses  flew. 
Her  shrieks  now  rend  the  wind. 
30. 
Ah  !   Albert,  soon  thy  heart  must  feel. 
That  heart  which  caused  this  woe; 
There  is  no  balm  that  wound  can  heal. 
Which  conscience  will  bestow. 
3J. 
For  peace  no  more  that  breast  shall  cheer. 
Remorse  ne'er  yields  to  time;  '*^ 

Go,  weep  upon  that  mother's  bier, 
AntI  expiate  thy  crime. 
32. 
Fate  led  him  to  that  mournful  scene,      ^- 
Where  she  he  once  had  loved,  ;j 

Still  raved  at  him  who  false  had  been^i- 
And  cruel  to  her  proved.  ^^^,^ 

•w'^Avif  ;,  33.  d 

He  sees  that  form  which  won  his  heart. 

What  time  with  virtue  deck'd,      l .r.^fi 

And  pure,  till  he  with  treach'rous  apK'''''»8' 

Her  bosom's  peace  had  wreck'd.  "     ^^ 

34.  ? 

She  stood  like  statue  hewn  in  stone,         , 

-Tl 

When  cross  her  frantic  biain 
One  partial  gli  am  of  reason  shont —     ^ 
She  Albert  knew  again. 

"  Oh!  wretch,  most  perj'jred  and  untrue  r^ 

She  shriek'd,  "  avoid  my  sight — 
"  Look  there!  thy  work  of  death  review;" 

Then  sense  again  took  flight, 

36.  ;i 

Thou  art  avenged,  dl-fated  maid,  ;i 

His  happiness  is  lied;  ^ 

Whilst  ihou,  the  victim  he  betray*d.*  ■^ 

To  joy  or  grief  art  dead.  -lUl 

MaKIA   PiCKERSClLji.'":'^'   ., 
Soho-SqM^r^^  5Jid9»a  Sid  ,«dol  w* 

Hi'. 


INDEX. 


Aect'M,  Mr.  his  Essay  od  Chemical  Rca^^tnts 

aniioiinccil,  Ib-J 
Adaiii,  Mr.  correction  respecting,  58 
Addison,  J.  his  "  Dearent  Ellen"  reviewed,  40 
Aerial  Isles,  extract  (Void,  IhG 
AtVieau  Jugijlers  and  Serpent  tamers,  llG 
Ahaiituh  and  I'antyn,  Account  of,  announced, 

lei  J 
Alliert  and  Matilda,  a  serious  ballad,  367 
Aiken,  Mr.  his  work  on  the  Horse  announced, 

i9 
Antiquarian   Cabinet,  a   new  edition  of,  an- 

iMMinceil,  3li4 
Apparition,  remarkable,  107 
Arauda,  count,  anecdote  of,  75  . 
Architects,    clironological    catalogue    of    the 

most  emiiieiit,  10,  bS 
Architectural  Hint*,  1,63,  125,  187,  24i),  311 

Review, a, 64,  I2G,  lyj,  ■.'32,  315 

Artists,  survey  of  the  most    eniment,  8,6s, 

131,  194,  254 — results  of  the  survey,  318 
Arts,  tine,    1,63,  125,  18/,  249,   311— on   the 

Nature  and    Use   of  Day-light   in,   269 — 

notes  CD,  346 

B. 
Bakcwell  and  Co.  Messrs.  their  improved  me- 
thod of  preparing  niiiijnesia,  246 
Baliviere,  abb6  de,  aueciloies  of,  IS 
Banquetin^-House,  Whitehall, account  of,  j65 
Barnett,  Master,  his  The  Wanderers,  a  duet, 

reviewed,  3>j 
Bazaar  of  Beauty, 76 
Beale,  \V.  his  What  ho  !  reviewed,  40 
Beczwarzowsky,  A.  hit  Saxe-Coburg  review- 

etl,  397 
Beds,  descriptions  of,  182 
Benefactor,  the  unknown,  27 
Berry,  Mr.  his  Genealogical  Mythology  an- 
nounced, 59 
Bethlem  Hospital,  new,  description  of,  3  1 

Bewick,  Mr.   his  cuts   to  .£sop's   Fables  an- 
nounced, 367  i 
Biographical  Sketches  and  Anecdote*,  13,75, 

138,  204,  96<i,  33  i 
Biron,  marshal  de,  anecdotes  of,  138  , 

Bishop,  H.  R.  review  of  his*>  The  Chouffh  and 
Crow  to  roost  are  gone,"  l':)7 — "Tlve  \\  inds 
whistle  cold,"  167  I 

Books,  process  of  bleachin(r  such  as  have  be-  ' 
come  yellow  by  a^e,  74 — method  of  rcmo-  ' 
ving  grease-spots  from,  203  ' 

Bottomley,  J.  review  of  his  Dictionary  of  Mu-  j 

sic,  42 
Boagainville,  M.  de,  anecdote  of,  76 
Roxhill,  Rural  welcome  to,  revic.ved,  223  ] 

Bieail,  meihud  of  making  it  without  yeast,  199  1 
Britisii  I  ii-ititulion,  e\hibitioni>  of,  6,  43  | 

Brittoii,  .Mr.  his  History  of  the  .Abbey  Church  ' 
at  Bath  announceil,  .JO". — notice  respecting  I 
his  History  of  Norwicli  (^athedral,  30.5 — his 
Illustrations  of  Winchester  Cathedral  an- 
uounced,  365  | 

Brown,   rev.    David,  Memorial    Sketclies  of, 

announced,  lioo 
Bruce,  rev.  John,  his  Juvenile  Anecdotes  an- 
nounced, 244 
buildings,  public,  English  prejadices  against, 
^38 


Bnri'owes,  J.  F.  review  of  liis  airs  for  the  pia- 
no-forte, 168, 232 — The  Lothian  Lassie,  29G 
C 

Callcnder,  U'.  R.  his  air,  &c.  for  the  piano- 
forte reviewed,  294 — his  third  duet  for  the 
pii'iip-l'orle  reviewed,  3tK» 

Campbell,  Miss,  her  Poems  announced,  245, 
3u6 
■     ■    .   T.  Hn.'S  .iddressed  to,  2(iQ 

Caracci,  A.  remarks  on  a  picture  l»y,  45 
■  ,  L.  reinuiks  «ni  a  picture  by,  45 

Carac.ioli,  marquis,  nneciloles  of,  19 

Carlton-Housc,  on  the  new  street  and  build- 
iii)>s  near,  64 

Cnrinineaiul  cochineal  hike,  preparation  of,202 

Ceri..du,  Oi  tlic  Wishes,  2"7 

Chaiiionni,  description  of  the  valley  of,  160 

Chaiitrey,  Mr  remaiks  on  his  desij;n  for  a 
monument  for  general  Picton,  6— his  ino- 
iiuiiients  for  generals  Hay,  Poiisonby,  and 
Gillespie,  7 

Charlotte,  princess,  portraits  of,  announced, 
122,  3n5 

Churchill,  Mr.  his  Correrfioiis  and  Ad'litioiit 
to  Rees's  Cyclopa-ilia  annonrced,  307 

Clarke,  rev.  Dr  Adam,  his  eililum  of  Elar- 
mer's  Obscivations  on  Script ureuniiounctd, 
18.1 

,  rev.    Dr    E    J.    selections   from   hn 

Travels,  22,  46 

Clothes,  method  of  preserving  them  frona 
moths,  199 

Coal-mines,  descriptions  of  Sir  H  Davy's 
lamp  for  preventing  explosions  in,  91 

Coals,  substitute  for,  2<' I 

Colion,  rev.  Mr.  his  Many  Thinafs  in  few 
^^'ords  announced,  244 

Conservatory,  (iolhic,  description  of,  1 

Corri,  Mr.  P.  his  Emii.a's  Cot  reviewed,  296 

Cottage  orne,  litscnplion  of,  249 

Cramer,  J.  B.  rtv.ew  of  his  air  "  Love  has 
Eyes,"  37 — his  Hibernian  air,  |o6 

Curr;inl  wine,  receipt  for  makinif,  73 

Cnit's,  Mr.  his  leciiires  on  the  car,  and  de- 
scription of  artiticial  cars  invented  by  him, 
360 

Cnsfom-housc,  new,  description  of,  eg 

Czerni  George,  account  of,  2u4 

Danneley,  J-  F.  review  of  his  "  How  gaily  (o 

Hamlet  and  Hill,"  23(i 
Da\y,  s;r  H.   de.-c.  iptiQo  of  his  lamp  for  pre- 

ventiup;  explosions  in  coal  mines,  91 
— — ,  J.  his  duet  for  the  harp  and  piano- forte 

reviewed,  294 
Day-light,  on  the  Nature  and  Use  of,  in  the 

Fine  Arts,  2^9 — notes  on,  ;!4ii 
De  Midieis,  .Mary,  memoir  of, -.iOO 
D  Kntrecasteaux,  viscount,  extraordinary  pe* 

tit  ion  of,  20 
Dialogue  between  a  passenger  and  a  turtle,  248 
Domestic  Commonplace-Book,   13,  72,    IJ5, 

198,  258,  324 
Doric  order,  differences  of  the  Grecian  and 

Roman,  67 
Drouet,  L.  review  of  his  third  concerto  for  the 

flute,  169— his  Tyroiian  air,  jjj — his  three 

waltzes,  iuu— bis  French  air  for  the  flute. 

reviewi  d,  3jS 

3  C  2 


INDEX. 


Dry-rot  in  buildings,   observations  on,    126, 

18/,  250,   313 
Dubois,  J.  A.  his  Description  of  ihe  People  of 

India  announced,  183 
E. 
Earth-worms,  caterpillars,  &c.  irnthod  of  de- 
stroying, 263 
Egineo  and  Marescotti,  review  of  their  Non 

Felicior  alter,  105  | 

Elizabeth,  princess,  engravings  from  designs  j 

by  her  announced,  306 
Emdin,  T.  his  "Ali!   why  did   I  gather  this 

beautiful  flower"  reviewed,  39 
Emigration,  a  poem,  announced,  183 
Eiiamtl,  on  the  coiisposition  of  various  kinds 

of,  135 
England,  remarks  on  the  present  state  of  the 

arts  in,  66 
Esuph,  or  the  Man  who  was  born  too  late, 

stoiy  of,  28  1 
Eyes,  method  of  preserving,  258 
Eyesight,  method  of  judging  when  it  may  be 

assisted  bv  glasses,  201 
F. 
Faithful  Servant,  21 1 

Fasliions  for  ladies,  52,118,  176,  240,299,36] 
■  — — — observations  on,    53,    1 19, 

176, -^41,  300,36 1 

.Fellows,  Mr.  his  History  of  Ceylon  uimoun- 

ced,  .244 
Femalf  Tattler,  31,  93,  154,  222,  264,  356'   ' 
Fire-balls  for  fuel,  method  of  making,  ^(ri 
Flour,  substitute  for,  when  used  for  starch  or 

size,  73 
Foster,  Mr.  his  Generic  Forms  of  the  Crania 

of  Animals  announerd,  306 
Fouclie,    M.    his    Corresj fiidence     with     Ihc 
Duke     of    Wel'ington    anno'.ineed,     1S2 — 
Sketch  of  his  Public  Life  announced,  I32 
Francis,  E   S    poet.y  by,  61,  123 
French  Female  Fashions,  55,  178,302 
Fuel,  cheap  mode  of  making,  201 
Furniture,  fashionable,  58,  121,  182,  243,  305, 
364 

G 
Gahagan,  Mr.    remarks  on  his  sketch  for  a 

monument  for  general  Picton.  7    '"  ii^^ii*" 
Garden-stats,  des<ription  of,   125     '   i" '"^ ''•*' 
Gardener's  cottage,  de^cription  of,  63 
Geological  Society,  Transactions  of,  announ- 
ced, 60 
Gildon,  Mr.  his  duet  for  the  pianoforte  re- 
viewed, 293 
Giorgioue,  remarks  on  pictures  by,  46         '' 
Giraffe,  man. ler  of  hunting  it,  50  ' 

Glass  t;lobules,  process  of  making,  337 
Goi.seberry  wme,  reieipt  for  making,  72 
Goidou,  Sii-  Adam,  his  Sermons  aniioiiiieed,  f>n6 
Grease-spots,  method  of  removing,  from  pa- 
per, 2o3 
Gnek  lady,  adventures  of  a,  2.T6,  297 
(ireek<:,  modern,  manners  of,  46 
GregsuUjMr.  his   History  of  Lancashire  ai- 

uoiiiiced,  244 
Griraani,  Miss,  her   Brunswick    U'altzes   re- 

vie.ved,  lljs 
Guido,  remarks  on  pictures  by,  46 
Guii;es,  due  de,  anecdote  of,  139 
Gunpo.vder,  method  of  preserving,  265 

H 
>iamel.  Dr.  his  experiments  with  Sir  H.  Da- 
'  lyi  lamp,  92 


Hardy,  rev,  S.  his  CompendlMin  of  the  History 

of  Ireland  announced.  30o 
Harmonic  Miscellany,  the,  reviewed,  38 
HavelTs  Villas,  notice  concerning,. 365 
Hawker,   major,   his    Instruetions   to  Young 

Sportsmea  annoueced,  225 
,  rev.  Dr.  notice  respecting  his  Com- 
mentary on  the  Old  and   New  Testamtnt, 
365 
Heard,  Mr.   his  invention  for  rendering  salt- 
water tit  fur  washing  or  cooking,  246 
Helen  3'Hiy,  lines  to,  62 

Hints,  aich;»ectura!,  1,  63,  125,  187,  249,  311 
HoiIkoH,  J.  his  Collection  of  Duets  reviewed, 

29'.; 

Howell. T  It  view  of  his  Practical  Instructions 
for  the  I'.r.i'o-Forte,  41 — his  Auxiliary  les- 
sons, 42 — Koy's  \^  ife  of  .Aldivalocb,  106 — 
Lessons  in  al!  the  Major  and  Minor  Keys, 
230 — his  Preludes  for  the  piano-forte,  357 

Hugbson,  Di  his  Walks  through  London 
announced,  3o6 

Hunia;;ily  Rfw:irded,  82 

Hunlri,  rt'v   ,fo.-ieph,  his  Topographical  Sur- 
vey of  bhetiield  announced,  244 
I 

Indigo,  preparation  of,  331 

Intelligence,  Literary,  Scientific,  &c.  58,  122, 
1S2, 244,  305,364 

,  musical,  43 

J.  ■■■: 

Jackson,  Mr.  his  System  of  Mnemonics  an- 
noiinced,   182 

James's  Travels,  extracts  from,  107,  109,  170, 
2i(3  vrv^^K- 

Jews,  degraded  slate  of,  in  Morocco,  .^;^^'  ''/ 

Juhu.->on,  Dr.  his  L'iary  of  a  Journey  idfp 
North  Wales  annouiiced,  244 

Jousse,  Mr.  J.  his  Harmonic  Cards  reviewed, 
358 

Jouy,  M.  his  Hermit  of  Guiana  announced, €^ 

Justice,  Russian  administration  of, -iQg^.doi/ 
K.  r-.j-^ 

Kaikbrenner,  F.  review  of  his  Marche  suiirie 
de  variations,  104— his  sonatas  for  the 
piano- forte,  229,  29.") — his  third  trio  fur  the 
piano-forte  reviewed,  359 

Keaiiiige,  colonel,  extracts  from  his  Travels, 
no,  112,  116 

Kiallmark,  G  review  of  his  "  Fare  thee 
well!"  39—"  Now  each  Tie  of  Love  is 
broken,"  295 — "  The  Garland  of  Love"  re- 
viewed, 360 

Kirby,  Caroline,  leview  of  her  rondo,  J68— 
her  Introduction,  &c.  for  the  piano-forte, 
232 

Kirkman,  Mr.  his  improvement  in  the  grand 
piano  forte,  43  ,  ;■' 

Klengel,  A.  A.  review  of  bis  Fantasia,  166  ,  W 

Klose,  F  J.  review  of  his  Courtship  Dance  of 
the  Russian  Peasants,  38— The  Lay  of  the 
Wanderer,  41 — Waters  of  Elie,  293 — The 
7  uscan's  Invocat.on,  293 — "  By  that  SuiiUi" 
reviewed,  357 — "  Ah  I  sigh  not  thus"  re- 
viewed, 357 

Kotzebue,  Augustus  von.  Danger  of  the 
smallest  Deviation  fiom  Truth  illustrated, 
'''^i  '4S  ,,j;.,;<)uo>d3  <Ki3»(nc1 

'-•      "      .     ,;i;M    .jlHliim"* 
I.aeey,  J    M.  poi  try  by,  310  .^  ,  „,•  ,v  h.k'^J 

Lady,  adventures  of  a  Greek  one,  3.36^.307    •<   ' 
Ladies,  fashions  for,  52,  11^^,  l7)^.!*4P,S99,36l 


INDF.X. 


Ludies,  obt-rrvutions    ou    tlii'ir    fusliions,    53, 

119,  1/6,  '.>4i,  3110,  :>()i 
Leather,  new  met  hod  of  japnnniiig,  74 
— ^— —  process  for  pn  pariiiij  shiigrteii,  324 
Let;aty- Hiiiitifss,  aUvintiires  of,  'J89,  34^ 
1,( 'gitiiiiuU'  I'nilc,  ,(  ;() 

Leuiiardo  <tu  Vimi,  1  tiiiarkablf  ])ictnrps  by,  Ar, 
LcopoM,  priiici',  purlu'uluis  ilii\>triitivr  of  Ins 

chuiiittcr,  :i.')  —  porhail  uf,  aiiiiouiicctl,  l'2'2 
LcbliT,    IVlr.his    lllus>lra(ioiis   of    London  ari- 

nouiicrd,  'J44 
Lirhtfiisiein,   professor,   selections   from    bis 

I  liiveU,  .■><» 
Linu'stuiic,  uietboil  of  analyzinof,  17 
Loi'kett,  r<i|>t.  bis   '1  ravels   f.  oiii   C'uicutta  to 

Dal>)liiii  u jiiounrtil,  183 
Loiiitun,  select  Vie*s  ol,  aiinouiiced,  59 
L.ovewortb,  Louisa,  liislory  of,  '.'77 

M. 
Mupfriesia,  improved  nietliod  of  pre pariii|j,  24G 
Alalveiit,  History  of,  aMiiomiced,   300 
IMaiiuM-ripis,  melhud  of  lakiii{>;  niipressioas  of, 

'203 
Manner's  compass,  iiu-thod  of  judging  of  tlie 

proper  aujtisi  iiieilt  of,  Jj<J 
IMarjg,  nietbod  of  exaiiiiiiinnf  Ibeir   nature,    15 
Alateh-mai^er,  till  tusbsoaabic,  79,  I4'>, '219 
AJaterials  fur  hiiiidiiig,  iiiies    for  a!>certaiiiiiig 

tiu'lr  streiiglb,  >2m() 
Matrimony,  or  Faults  on  both  Sides,  333 
IMaunce,    llcv.    'I',    bis    Uhj-ervations    uii   tlie 

Ruins  of  Babylon  announreil,  1^3 
Mayer,  J.  B.  review   of  bis    variations  to  Mo- 
zart's tbeme,  itj; 
MazzingbijJ    review  of  bis  Istrian  air,  38 
Meat,  on  tlie  loss  of  weis^bt  in,  7-> 
Millin,    >f.     transl.ition     of    bis  Antiquarian 

Travels  in  Italy  announced,  19.! 
Misctltaiiies,  20,  7O,  14o,  ^jo7  ,  ^'.^y,  333  I 

Moiia-inarble,  chiinney-pseee  of,  'J4  j  I 

Moiiuiiiental  models,  exbibllioil  of,  G  I 

Monro,  Air.  J.  bis  "  Keanly  biiii.iiig  tbrougli 

her   Tciis"  it  vit  wed,  3.)ii 
flfornei  o,  emperor  of,  ;ui  (iiiiii  of  the,  1 10 

<ie;;ratl<o  slale  of  I  be  Jt  »t>  in,  J  12 
Mosaic,  thioi)ul<i|r  cul  1  .italogvie  of  the  most 

emiiit'Ul   artists  in,  if)-. 
Moscow,  coiitl.>g;ratio;'.  of,   170,  -233 
IMudie,  .Mr.  bisStrics  (d'  .Medals  aniiounced,244 
Murillo,  remarks  on  |iietnres  by,  4O 
Mushrooms,  remedy  for  the  poisonous  effects 

of  false  ones,  32t) 
Musical  Intelligence,  42 
■■■    '  reviert,  3;,  lo4,  16G,  2-'5,  293,  354 

N. 
^'asoline,   his  "    In    c.iliii,    in   soothing  Plia- 

sore,"  reiicwcd,  4u 
Kithi  1  lanils,  Costiiinrs  of,  announced,  305 
Netlani  and  (iilis,  Messrs.  tbeir  Map  of  La»- 

casliire  unnouiiccd,  245 
Newman's    Spanish    Dietiniiary,    new    edition 

of,  announced,  I -22 
Kepal,  Hislory  of,  announced,  |83 

O 
Uriiamenis  for  puinling  on    wood    and   fancy- 
work,  jfitj 

P. 
Painters,  cbronolojiical  catalogue  of  the  most 

eminent,  191),  2  .4 
Palace,  on  ilie  atlvantages  of  ei-ecting  a  new 

one,  lOti 
Paris, advantages  of  a  trip  lo,  c\implifuil,i4o 


Vark-eiitraiice,  description  of,  311 
Parke,  Miss,  her  Self  de<:eplion  announced, .^9 
Paik<,  \^  .    1'.  review  of  Ins  Faietliee  well,  lo."; 
Petrowitscb,  George,   or   Czeriii  Geoige,  ac- 
count oi,  204 
Pliiltips,    W  .  his  (lullines  of  Mineralogy  and 

(ji'Oloi^y  annnnnetu,  OU 
Piaiio-foi  te,  improvement  in,  43 
Hickersgill,   .Maria,   poetry  by,  3(»7 
Pictures,  sin;{niar  mode  of  copying,  203 
Poetry,  cii),  123,  IS-O,  247,  309,  3f>7 
Poor,  society  for  relieving,  meeting  of,  184 
Pooi-laus,  work  on,  announced,  122 
Pope,  Mr.  new  edition  of  his  Laws  of  the  Ex- 
cise annonnced,    183 
Pousbiu,  G.  remarks  on  pictures  by,  4.1 
Poussin,  N.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  44 
Pradt,  M  de,  reported  produce  of  his  woiks,  Go 
Primrose,  apo.slioplie  to  a,  02 
Prints,  process  of  bU.iicbing  such  as  have  be- 
come yellow  by  age,  74 
U. 
Raphael,  remarks  on  pictures  by,  44 
Rees,  Uev.  T    bis  translation  of  the  Racoviaii 

Caliciiism  aiiiioiiiiieu,  3'j5 
Review,  Architectural,  3, G4,  12G,  100,  252,  3l.'i 

of  Music,  ;i7,    104,  100,  22.^>,  293,  3.34 

Rulilel,   Mr.  bis  method   of  pr<  venting  injury 

from  over  driven  animals,  ti^i 
Ries,  P.  review  of  bis   •'   Auiaiiti  C'onstanli," 

229 — his  rontlu  lor  the  p. .1110  forli-,  294 
Rimbault,  S.  F    itview  of  his  voluntiu-y  for  the 
Oi;;an,     40 — l  be  Saxe-Cbuurg    i\iurcb   and 
Waltz,    231  —  bis    aceoiii|)aii)meiit     to    Mo- 
zart's overture  to  ldiirae.;co,  i;31 
Royal  Exchange,  vies»s  cf,  auHoiinccd,  122 
Russell,  T  jun  bis  Picturesque  View  of  Guild- 
find  aiiuouncetl,  183 
Ryai:,    Mr.  his  'licatise  ou    Mining  and  Ven- 
tilation announced,  3u6 
S. 
St    Germyn,   Christoplier,    his    Dialogues    of 

the  Laws  of  England  announced,   300 
St.    Mary-le-Bone   new    church,   remarks   en, 

I2G,   191 
Saloon  di aperies,  description  of,   59 
I  'Salvalor  ivosa,  remarks  on  pictures  by,  46 
i   Saoiiiisuii,  J    bis  Mudy  for   the  Bow  and  Fin- 
ger-Board  reviewed,  109 
S.ipieiit,  Solomon,   Matrimonial    Disappoiut- 

nieuls  of,   143  " 

Sark,  description  of  the  island  of,    162 
Savoy,  account  of  the,  2  10 — lemarks  on  Ver- 

tut's  engraving  of,  303 
Saxe-Coburg,  prince  Leopold   of,  particulars 
illustrative   of  his   character,    35  —  portrait 
of  announced,    122 
Siixnny,   tidxiles  of  gratitude  fiom  tbatcoun- 

tiy,   for  lirilish  assistance,  3117 
Sceiit-b;igs    to    pres'TVC   cioth'-s   fiom   ninths, 

method  of  preparinsf,    199 
Scott,  rev   Ji.mes,  bis  Sermons  announced,  244 
Sculpt). rs,  cbrunolugitai  catalogue  o<  llie  most 

emineui,    131.    l!>4 
Sea-s\rkii(  ss,   method  of  preventing,  324 
Seleclnr,    tiie,  40.   Ii'7>  ITO,  233,  •::I7 
Jshakspeare's  Dramatic   Songs,  with    remarks 

by  Linley,  r«  viewed,  225 
Sharp,  J    his  Milit.iry  Divert,  reviewed,   170 
Sheridan,   .Mr.  ineniuns  of,  iMinonnced,   122 
Sboberi,    Mr    description   of  the  medal  tra;is- 
mitted  to  hiui  by  the  king  of  Saxony,  309 


INDEX. 


Siirht,  method  of  preserving  it,  260 

Sliver,    engiaved,    nielhotl    of  inlaying   with 

enamel,   2tJ4 
Sniith,  C.  N.  leview  of  his  answer  to  "Jessy 

the  Flower  of  DumMane,"   106 
Sold,  C.  M.  review  of  Ins  "  Fare  thee  \¥ell,"  89 
Spectacles,  rules  for  chnsinj;,  200 
Spix,  Dr.  his  work  on  ihe  Formation  of  the 

Head,  246 
Stevenson,  Sir  J.  A.  review  of  his  Valentine's 

Day,  38 — the  Cot  in  the  Vale,  230 
Stilton  cheese,  process  of  making,  264 
Stiivewell,  Susan,   history  of,  22 
Styl<s,  rev.  Lr.  his  Mcnioiis  and  Remains  of 

the  rev.  Charles  Buck  auiiounced,  364 
Sulphur,  method  of  ascertaining    its    purity, 

U!8 
Surgeons,  Royal  College  of,  3l6 
Sumy    histituiion,  arrangement   for  lectures 

at,  243 
Swallow,  familiarity  of  one,  22 

T. 
Tattler,  the  Female,  31,  93,  1G4,222,  284,  3r,0 
'laylor,  Miss,  new  work  by  her  announced,  59 

,  Mr    pottrj  by,    lti5 

Theatres,   remarks  on  lite  entrances  to,  315 
Theed,   Mr.  remarks   on  his  sketch  for  a  mo- 
nument  for  general   Ponsonby,  7 — his   nio- 
nnment  for  generals  Fakenham  and  Gibbs,7 
Thiekke,   Mr.  his  eugiavings  from  designs  by  j 

the  princess  Elizabeth  announced,  30ti 
Tin,  process  for  ascertaining  its  purity,  326 
Titian,  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  44 
Thompson,  Benjamin,  his  Posthumous  Dra- 
matic Pieces  announced,  244 
Tomkins,  Mr.  his  written  duplicates  of  free- 
doms conferred  by  the  city  of  London,   )22 
—  biographical  particulars  respecting  him, 
332 
Truih,  danger  of  deviation  from,  86,   148 
Tully's  narrative  of  a  residence  at  Tripoli,  ex- 
tracts from,  236,  297 
Tyrconnel,  duchess  of,  anecdote  of  her,  354 

U. 
Uiterson,  E.V.  his  selections  of  early  popu- 
lar poetry  announced,  i83 


Vauxhail  bridge,  description  of,  259 

Venus,  epigram  on  the  statue  of,  248 

Vertue,  his  view  of  the  Savoy,  353 

V'oigt,  A.  the  Tank  reviewed,  42 
W. 

Warden,  Mr.  Wm.  his  Letters  respecting  the 
conduct  of  Bonaparte  and  his  suite  an- 
nounced, 364 

Warner,  rev.  Richard,  his  Sermons  announ- 
ced, 307 

Wafer,  method  of  keeping  it  sweet,  17— pro- 
cess for  ascertaining  the  power  of  a  current 
of,  327 

Waterloo,  account  of  the  battle  of,  97 — lines 
on,  247 

Bridge,  account  of,  288 

Watkins,  Dr.  his  Memoirs  of  Mr.  Sheridan 
announced,  122 

Westall,  Mr.  his  illustrations  of  Milton,  &c. 
announced,  364 

Whitaker,  G.  review  of  bis  "  Fare  thee  well^** 

39 

— — -^—  Mr.  John,  his  Overture  to  Philip 
and  his  Dog  leviewed,  354  — bis  "On  Banks 
of  blushing  Roses,"  355 — his  "The  Dog  is 
his  Master's  Protector  and  Friend,"  355 — 
his  *'  Summer  will  come  again.  Lady  fair," 
355 — "  The  queer  little  Man,"  355 

I\lr.  his  French  Graiiimar| announ- 
ced, 244 

Wilson,  Mr,  work  on  dancing  by  him  announ- 
ced, 60 — his  Companiou  to  the  Ball-Room 
r«^iewtd,  356 

Window-curtains  for  a  dining-room,  121 — for 
a  drawing-room,  364 

Wood,  method  of  staining  it  black,   18 

Woollens,  processes  for  dyeing  of  various  co- 
lours, 13 

Wright,  Messrs.  success  of  their  practice  in 
curing  persons  born  deaf,  184 

Wyatt,  Mr.  his  model  for  a  grand  naval  and 
military  monument,  8 
Y. 

Yeast,  suhbtitute  for,  199 


END  OF   THE  SECOND   VOLUME. 


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